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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766865">Winter's Phoenix</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zavocado/pseuds/zavocado'>zavocado</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arya Stark is a Targaryen, Azor Ahai Prophecy | The Prince That Was Promised, F/M, Hints of A:TLA too, Hints of Cancer Deathmask/Pisces Aphrodite, Hints or LOTR and Narnia and Beauty and the Beast and some other things to, Jon Snow Becomes the Night King, Jonerys, Magic, Started as a Hades/Persephone AU, The Long Night, yup he does in the very first chapter but its fine i promise lmao</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:35:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zavocado/pseuds/zavocado</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three centuries after the Prince Who Was Promised vanishes during the great battle, Princess Daenerys Targaryen lives in the world's last safe haven, Valyria. Each day the sun grows weaker, the world colder, their allies falling silent one by one, and her mother weakening as their magic fights to hold their city against the Long Night descending for the last time.</p>
<p>As winter consumes the land, Dany sets forth to destroy this Night King laying waste upon the world, to be the savior at the end of the Targaryen line when no one else could.  But when the time comes, can she find the wisdom and courage to understand what's been lost in the dark?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>178</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. PROLOGUE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hate summaries. Don't we all, haha? It's gibberish and weird and whatever, the story is more coherent.</p>
<p>For those who have/are reading my other stuff, this is the story I wrote for NaNoWriMo in November. It's definitely not finished yet, and I'm not sure how often it'll update (what is written still need editing, continuity checking etc. etc.), but we're going to get it started on here. This is a Jonerys story eventually, though it will be a while before they meet. They've got a few centuries separating them at the moment, lol. But we'll get them together soon enough.</p>
<p>This first one is a prologue with the broodiest brooder, Jon.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Prophecy raised him almost as much as his father.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From his first steps to his first words to his earliest memory of his grandiose life in the Red Keep, Jon had known he had a purpose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are the song of ice and fire,” his kingly father would say every night as he was tucked into his bed. “The Prince That Was Promised, little one. Someday, you will save us all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother would offer a soft smile at those words before showering him with kisses and reading him his favorite story about the terrible Children of the Forest. They’d harmed the world and so he had to save them, that much he knew. He did not understand what it all really meant then. Not as a tiny boy of three. But they loved him when they told him he was their promised one, when they told him all that he was. His father’s dark eyes shined like starlight and his mother’s eyes glowed like the rising sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They love him dearly, their only child, and he savored it utterly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All around Westeros, everyone agreed. When the lords came to visit from the Riverlands or Dorne or Casterly Rock, they all doted on him. He was promised to save them. His birth was a great sign as the bleeding star had fled across the sky as his mother labored to bring him into their world. He’d been born on Dragonstone, amongst salt and smoke at his father’s insistence. Nobody ever disputed it. Nobody had ever dared to cross his father, the king. With the world’s future at stake, how could they? Under his father’s reign, there was no need. Rhaegar the Valiant, his royal father, who’d brought the realm from sparseness and poverty into a flourishing robust summer. Near everyone loved him, and so Jon did, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Life will be as you create it,” his mother always told him. “You are everything we hoped and all the world might ever need. Your father believes in you entirely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And King Rhaegar did just as all the rest. In the Red Keep’s vast library and when they met with the king’s Small Council, and even once Jon was old enough to begin his training with steel and fire and ice, his father was there for every step. Rhaegar showed him all the world within their great castle. Endless kingly duties never deterred him.  Each day his father made time for him, hours and hours together. His father’s mother doted on him, too, loved to tease him for his growing similarities to her only son.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They say I must have swallowed some books when your father grew inside me, but I daresay he’s passed those same books on to you,” Grandmother would joke. Every night she would gather him in her arms after dinner and have him read to her. “You’re our darling prince, my little dragon. Finally here to save us all. How we hoped you might be perfect, and so you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been five then, half-listening, more interested in the hefty book in his lap and all the scribbled, inky words and delicate pictures just waiting to be explored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But prophecy was tucked into every pocket of his life, and his sixth nameday finally gave it shape on the path before him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His favorite knight took him to the training yard after breakfast, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, to show him how to be the very best.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will leave the fire magic to your father and the ice to your mother, but steel is just as fierce,” Ser Arthur told him amongst the morning mist and chill. A golden sun was rising, but not enough to light their corner. “In war, you’ll need a blade to balance the magic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“War?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ser Arthur knelt before him, adjusting Jon’s grip on his little wooden training sword. It was a quarter the size of the knight’s gleaming steel, and not at all deadly. Even so, Jon was thrilled. Both his mother and father wielded blades. Many evenings he watched them dance, with steel and sometimes music, but always with laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are the Prince That Was Promised,” Ser Arthur reminded him. “When winter returns, you will lead our armies to victory against the cold and dead. Only you can destroy what the Children created.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chill ran down his spine, though for what reason Jon could not have explained. He’d read about the war that had devastated the kingdoms while his late grandfather had reigned, when their kingdoms had fought each other and made a big mess of everything. Battles sounded more about people hurting each other. Not fighting temperatures and abstractions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>things,</span>
  </em>
  <span> not people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We must, as we have for thousands of years.” Ser Arthur ruffled his hair and stood. “Fire and Blood are your words, remember. It is both what a Targaryen is and what you must bring upon them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But how do you fight the cold?” Jon swung his little sword through the crisp air. “See? Swords don’t hurt it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His knight laughed. “His Grace will teach you all you need to know, little Prince. And when winter comes in truth, this morning chill will seem a roaring fire.You will face this Night King with steel and fire and ice enough to match his, and you will </span>
  <em>
    <span>win</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Night King?” He’d never heard of such a king, just his royal father. “Is he a king like Father?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. He is a monster, they say. Our only true foe,” Ser Arthur said. “Whatever magic lives within him can only be matched by you, Jon. Someday, you will face him. Defeat him. You must for all our sakes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon did not understand that either, but he felt the burden of those words as if Ser Arthur had decided to sit upon his tiny shoulders. Their first dance began instead then. He was peppered with kisses from his mother once they were done, sweating and a little sore, but pleased that all the adults were thrilled with him once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A natural,” her mother praised, cradling him in her arms. “As we knew you would be. How could you not inherit my skills to go with my looks?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My skills like my brains, you mean,” his father argued. “You did well, son. One day soon you’ll best us both with a blade, just you wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was bathed and fed, then joined by his father for a story before bed. Jon let himself be tucked in under his blankets, silent and thoughtful over the discussion from the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s the Night King, Father? Is that his </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At once, Jon could tell Rhaegar had no answer to give him. Before, his father had always been quick and pleasant with his knowledge, but at Jon’s question, he’d gone very still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve never learned his name, I’m afraid. In the millennia of his life, nobody has ever discovered any true information on him. The Children of the Forest created him long ago, used their magic to try to find a way to annihilate us as we had to do to them. He comes with the cold. Some say he brings the storms with him to blanket the land in an eternal winter. His magic is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cold?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” his father agreed. “Like yours and your mother’s. Like the Starks, but different as well they say. No Stark could do what the legends say he can. He is evil, Jon. Not good like us. They say he was once a man, but I daresay it rings false. Prophecies and tales go back for centuries speaking of the endless cold that sweeps the world. From Westeros to Volantis to Asshai, legends of his horror are told. Every place has its own memory of him, yes, but we all agree he is a curse. Perhaps he is a fallen god, seeking vengeance for the Children, long forgotten or absent from our faiths, or something we’ve yet to understand in our time. I do not know for certain, but prophecy tells us how he ends. With the song of ice and fire. With you, Jon. You are the one who will defeat him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shivered in the warm evening. “Will you be there, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Jon,” his father said. “A king leads the army, and if our estimates are right, you will just be of age when winter arrives.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> with me, Papa?” Jon grabbed his big hand and tugged it to his chest. “Right here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always, son. For as long as I draw breath.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That made him feel better, so long as he wasn’t alone when this Night King came to see them. He did not like the sound of him at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sleep well, sweet prince.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Jon did. He slept and grew, then grew some more. Every year his life expanded, his understanding evolved. Everyone was so proud, and they told him so endlessly. Their wonderful, prodigious prince, skilled in swordplay, fire and ice magic, in the intricacies of ruling and politics that his parents and the maesters educated him with. Nobody had ever before been able to wield multiple elements, but he was special. Extraordinary. The song of ice and fire, and that meant both were his. His parents had wed just on the hope of having him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Autumn arrived when he was twelve, and with it came the weight of what he’d always been told.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your time is coming,” his father told him when the Citadel’s white raven arrived to announce the season change. “The North will be buried in the deep snows before long, before winter’s true arrival. Even with their wall, they will not be safe. I’m sending you north to your uncle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To war?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trepidation filled Jon at the very thought. In his life, he’d never left the south. Everything he needed was here, all his maesters and his family, his knight and studies, his mother and father and baby sister. Tiny Arya had been a surprise to them all three years ago, but a delight nevertheless. A prince had been promised, and so his parents had tried for nothing more. He did not think he’d ever loved anyone quite so much as his little sister. She looked every bit their mother just as he did, all dark hair and gray-eyed and long-faced, and twice as fierce already. When she looked at him, he was only Jon and that was a sweet relief he hadn’t had before her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> All was set here in King’s Landing to teach him to be what he was. Yet the idea of going north—that one day he would head to the cataclysm of his fate—hadn’t crossed his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet. First, you will finish your training with Lord Stark and your mother.” His father’s hand settled on his shoulder like the sea crushing him downward. “War will come, and winter, too. The dead will walk like they did three centuries ago. You must face them, be the shield to guard us. Do you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s stomach seemed to dissolve. “Yes, Father.” He swallowed. “Will you go with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhaegar shook his head, distracted as an aide hurried in with new raven scrolls on the progress of the realm’s harvest. “I will join you later, when winter is near upon us. There is still much the south needs to do to prepare.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, that only made Jon’s fears grow. He had years yet until winter, but the fact that summer had fled at all was near paralyzing. If he was honest, he hadn’t quite believed it would happen. Summer was all he’d ever known. Autumn’s arrival seemed welcome to everyone except him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When do we—when do </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stressed the word, hoping for a notable reaction and he got one. Rhaegar set aside the raven scrolls and considered him across his great oak desk. It was carved into dragon and flame. Fire and blood. All they were and needed to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You, your mother, and sister will leave by week’s end,” his father said, and he smiled slightly when Jon visibly relaxed. “You mustn’t worry so much, son. This is your destiny approaching. All your life has been training and learning and guiding you toward this moment, and so you are prepared and ready and capable. Trust your skills and the lessons we’ve taught you. Fear is not needed. Prophecy says you are the one and so you will win. You are the—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Song of ice and fire,” Jon finished, and he managed to keep the bitterness from his tone though not the taste of it from his mouth. Once, those words had filled him with pride and love. The more he learned, however, the more doubt he had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take pride, Jon. You are the culmination of centuries of preparation. Our ancestors came to this land to hunt him down, to find the source and cure the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Father.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the road north, they stopped at every castle and holdfast. Lords and ladies that had once come to visit him, were now bowing him into their homes. At each stop, Jon was showered in gifts, enough that Arya’s little face was scowling by the end. He was given swords and armor, chainmail and fine furs and boots and fur-lined gloves to protect against the cold. For her, they offered dolls and frilly garments. Nothing that interested her, even then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’ll have a sword and training soon enough,” their mother, Lyanna, reminded her when they finally rode out of Castle Cerwyn for Winterfell. For the home of House Stark where Lyanna had been born.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Jon—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is fourteen, little sister,” Jon reminded her. She’d settled in front of him on his saddle for the last part of their journey. As soon as they’d reached the road, Arya had been nothing but complaints. “I will train you myself. How’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, please!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rode into Winterfell at sundown, to a row of faces not unlike their own. Lord Stark was their mother’s older brother, a man Jon had met twice in his life, but who stuck to his roots. He hugged them both in greeting, and doted on Arya entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You might be your mother twenty years ago,” he told her, and Arya always beamed at such praise. “And a sword soon enough, I imagine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or now, please! Please, Mama?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet, darling, you’re still too little.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His cousins were all there, Robb, Sansa, and little Bran and Rickon. But it was the magic and future that had brought Jon north, not family. He said his hellos to everyone, but left it at that. His father was certain of his victory, of his future ruling after him as their savior. But everytime Jon tried to bond with anyone new anymore, he saw nothing but a deep, dying fog before him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll begin the advanced training in the morning,” Uncle Ned told him. “Ice magic is stronger here, where the old gods still linger. And the Night King… they say he was born of it. No one now living saw him during the last winter, but it seems too likely to be wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shivered as he always did when the Night King was mentioned. He could not explain the creeping fear that came with that name. Like ice slipping under his skin, burning his insides—like he was known and ripped open anew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will it be like the fire magic Father has been teaching me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Similar in its difficulty, but different as I’m sure you’ve realized. You’ll do fine, Jon, just fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His uncle was correct, of course, to the delight of all of Winterfell and his mother and sister most of all. He was a natural when it came to wielding magic, to honing his skills with a blade. By his sixteenth nameday, he’d learned all Uncle Ned could teach him and discovered more on his own. But nothing new on the Night King. Winterfell’s library was fit to rival the Red Keep’s, but all the tombs on the Long Night and its king were like all the rest. Vague retellings from centuries past. The stories written by those who had lived through the darkness of seemingly endless winters. When winter came, so did he, and they beat him back at great cost. But he was never destroyed. Eventually he always returned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet those people all survived in some way. Either they themselves or their children had lived on to birth future generations until the next winter arrived. For the Night King, defeated once, always came back. When winter’s time came, he brought the storm with him and the dead walked again. Nobody had ever truly killed him and ended the cycle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Until now. Until me, their promised prince.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The song of ice and fire, the joining of the Starks and Targaryens, him as their gift to defend the world and end it. As a small boy, he’d loved their pride and praise. Every day closer to that eventuality turned it bitter, uncertain. They’d had him for a purpose—would have regardless as part of a king’s duty—but he was not here for enjoyment. Not for their love and his own life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was born for destiny. And each day it tasted like ash in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rode north after his nameday celebrations, after the first true blizzard had buried the land in feet of powder. Every icicle and flake was pristine and neat. A beauty he’d never expected surrounded them because the cold was always spoken of with such contempt and dread.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re unlikely to have anything either,” his uncle reminded him, the morning they came into sight of Queenscrown. “So much knowledge is lost with each winter. Whatever answers you seek, its best to make peace with your questions instead of pursuing them. His demise will not bring answers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It never has before,” his uncle reminded him more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s never died before, though, not truly, has he?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Uncle Ned only frowned. Deep sorrow lingered in his gaze, as it always did when he looked at Jon. It was almost as unnerving as the ever increasing mentions of the Night King. Of his destiny, of the role the world had created for him long before he’d existed. Like his uncle knew things he did not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Queenscrown, however, was just as barren as his uncle had predicted. A small scattering of soldiers and maesters, Lord Karstark’s son to oversee them. Their library was a single shelf of simple texts. At the keep’s northern boundary, a great stone wall had been erected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll hold until winter,” Lord Karstark’s son told him, utterly thrilled just to lay eyes upon him. “One hundred feet or near abouts, Your Grace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded and thanked him, but the joy in Lord Karstark’s gaze gnawed at him. All throughout their pitiful supper and into Jon’s spare chambers, gloom clung to him. His uncle noticed, and for once, did not remain so silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something’s on your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I keep thinking… it’s stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are no stupid thoughts for a prince, Jon.” Ned took a seat beside the crackling fireplace. “Sit. Speak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon did so, surprised to find his hands were trembling. As soon as his uncle met his eyes, all his doubts spilled forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if we’re all wrong? How can anyone possibly know that I am the… what they think I am, uncle. Those prophecies were created millennia ago, in all sorts of languages and places. Translated over and over, perhaps altered a hundred times. How can all of you be so certain it’s me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a few minutes, his uncle did not answer. But when he did, Jon was certain he was being given an honest one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose we cannot, Jon. Words are wind or so they say. But we know the Night King invades, every winter for those unlucky enough to be alive when the season arrives. We know that time is near, and we know how important fire magic is to beat him back. When Aegon the Conqueror arrived on our shores three centuries ago, he saved us all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And his sisters, too. They’re just as important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His uncle smiled. “Yes, Arya I daresay would knock my ear off if I forgot them, but they saved us. With their fire and numbers and their dragons that are no more,” Ned said. No smile graced his face, but it rarely did. “Perhaps it’s desperation leading all of us to hope. Or perhaps its just knowing that you are the king who will rule when this ends, and so we put our trust in your courage and skills and magic. Maybe every generation who faces him clings to their newest leader as the prince destined to save us because who else do we have? But nobody else has ever wielded so much power, Jon. Ice and fire together is a mighty feat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His uncle chuckled. “Yes, I know you hear it all constantly. If not for your mother, I imagine your ego would be the size of Winterfell. And you may be right. They might all be words with no purpose or meaning. All of our beliefs and ideas may just be fantasies, but you are here. As we all are here to face what is coming. And I take comfort in knowing, whatever happens, my nephew is a fine, capable young man. When the time comes, Jon, you will fight for all of us because that is who you are in here,” he said, placing a hand over his own heart. “Not because of any prophecy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon tried to draw comfort in that wisdom, in the pride his uncle took not in all of his titles he’d had heaped upon him since birth, but in him as he was. Father loved him, he knew, but it was always with stars of glory in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When the king’s raven arrived to announce his journey north, Jon was unsurprised. Winter had slammed into the north like a bull into his stomach. The white raven to announce the season change had been found dead from cold just south of Winterfell a week prior. Snow piled up from sunrise to sunset, from dusk to dawn. They had men out day and night just to keep the gates clear for the approaching southron army. But the worst news was the end of his father’s letter, the commands insisting that his mother and sister both return south before it was too late. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I want to fight!” Arya was insisting even as her trunk was hoisting into the carriage bound for a ship in White Harbor. She drew out her wooden sword that she insisted on carrying everywhere and slashed at the air, red-faced. “I will stab him for you and tell him not to hurt my brother!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure you would, little wolf.” Jon tried to smile as he playfully dodged her clumsy strikes. She was near eight now, him a moon shy of seventeen. Finally, he caught her sword and tugged it from her hand. “Father will protect me,” he said, though he did not quite believe it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m meant to be the shield and the protector. Why would anyone think to protect me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jumped for her wooden sword as he held it out of reach, finally giving him a good kick in the shins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give it back!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I've got something better for you.” He glanced about the yard, found his uncle, mother, and cousins all distracted. “Come over here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he unwrapped the tiny, thin sword he’d hidden just inside the entrance to the crypts, Arya’s face glowed with excitement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A real sword! For me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed. “Who else could wield something so skinny and small?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stuck her tongue out at him, then tried it out with a few quick slashes. “Mother said I had to wait another year.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Mother doesn’t need to know everything now, does she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya beamed, sheathed her sword properly just as he’d taught her, then threw herself into his arms. Jon hugged her tight, squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You be good for Mother, will you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not much fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither is winter and how much she’s already going to be worried about me and Father.” Jon set her back on her feet reluctantly. “Don’t give her more grief until I’m back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya nodded, and suddenly she looked so very small. She was scrawny as it was, just like he’d been at that age, but he felt as if he’d never looked at her properly before. From his still growing height—from the view of an adult as he was now, instead of only her big brother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, I’ll hide it in your trunk while you say your goodbyes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother caught him just as he was shutting the latches, a stern look in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I even ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a present for her,” Jon said, keeping his face blank enough to fool her. Or so he’d thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A sword at eight now, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She may need it if… if the worst should happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lyanna’s face softened and she pulled him into her arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were born for this, Jon. And you have worked so hard to live up to all the expectations heaped on you since your first breath. There is nobody else I trust more to break this cycle than you, my sweet boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His tears caught up to him then, burning his eyes and cheeks from the cold. “I don’t want you to go, Mama.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must. Your sister needs protection if… someone must manage the south while you and Rhaegar are here, hmm? A queen has her duties just as a prince or a king.” She kissed his cheeks, the touch burning against the chill in his skin. “I love you so much, and I will see you again before you know it. Is there anything you wish to pass on to your father? I imagine we’ll meet him in White Harbor or on the road.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing that can’t wait until he arrives.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed her cheek, gave her another hug, and then Arya a big swinging one. Then they were gone. Into their carriage and rolling out of Winterfell’s southern gate and into the light snow that was falling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Father arrived a fortnight later, shivering and caked in snow and crusts of ice. The entire southron army had not fared well, but once he was warmed and fed, Rhaegar did not seem all that concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your mother and sister met us at White Harbor. I can’t believe how much Arya’s grown.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like a weed, same as me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, grown and ready to lead us,” Rhaegar told Jon as that sat in their private sitting room. “You’re a man now, Jon. We have all we need for when he comes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And came he did, three moons into winter, their ravens and riders from Queenscrown stopped. While terror clung to Jon’s insides with the abrupt silent, his father and uncle almost seemed relieved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll be here soon then,” Rhaegar said at the news. “A few weeks, perhaps longer. I imagine for him time is quite meaningless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, it seems likely.” Uncle Ned pushed a jug of ale into Jon’s chest. “Have some, boy, it’ll warm you up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the cold was not the reason for his trembling. Jon drank an entire horn in a few gulps, and then another. It helped a little, but no amount of ale or training or fire-wielding could truly prepare him for the purpose of his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How can I fail when so many think I’m the one? Success is meant to be my only option, the prophesied outcome.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he feared failure more than anything else for what was coming. He dreaded the look in his father’s eyes if he was beside him in those last moments. His stomach churned to think of what came after. If he died in the attempt, if his father was right that he was the Prince That Was Promised and he failed Westeros—what then?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to win,” his father said, ruffling Jon’s hair, his face alight with hope. “Trust yourself, Jon. All of your instincts have always driven you forward before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s hope they’re enough to drive </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For good,” Rhaegar said. “We’ll be the ones to end it, you’ll see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I will, you mean.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bitterness of the thought stung like the cut of a knife.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Winter’s king came upon them in bursts of the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon woke to the horns in the middle of night—or perhaps it was morning. The sun had fled from their skies. Time had turned lucid, untraceable. His father rushed into his room as he was putting his chainmail and gloves on for protection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Another wave,” Rhaegar told him. They’d been having them for days, though most did not even cross the trenches they’d dug around the castle. “Different. The storm is…” His father showed the first sign of fear that Jon could ever recall. “Unimaginable. Quick, Jon. Now is the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Before our moment’s lost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when he got outside, Jon was certain it was. Snow blinded him in thick swirls, the wind shrieked at the same pitch as the dead. He’d never seen ice magic of its kind. Fire rained from all around, arrows of flame piercing the black night, the gray of the snow. His father’s fire was lighting the night sky, giving the soldiers a chance to see the horror beyond their walls. Ser Arthur was with him, the moment he was outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll breach soon enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And soon enough was too soon. Jon had no time to think about it, only to fight and it was almost easy. If he’d had the time to think, he might have realized then that something was amiss. That while men and women around him were being devoured and risen as more blue-eyed dead, he had only enough decaying bodies to keep him focused; occupied. He’d have realized how every new wave seemed to slowly draw him through the castle’s ruined gates and out toward the trenches they’d spend months digging and then clearing of snow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father and Ser Arthur were with him in the chaos, through the breached curtain walls and out in the ice and cold, they’d found themselves at the snow-pounded trenches edge. When he turned, an eerie blue haze was breaking through the storm. All at once, the storm fell to a lull. The wind died, and a skeletal horse appeared at the edge of the forest. Or what was left of the once lush, vibrant tree line. Most had burned from their fire, but then frozen black and hard from the cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the field, the Night King’s ghostly figure appeared upon his dead horse. The cold stole Jon’s breath as soon as it hit. And the Night’s King dismounted, a great ice sword in hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The song of ice and fire,” Rhaegar said in a hush. “We’re with you, son.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shivered, his sword trembling in his grip, flesh frozen to the steel. Across the distance, the Night King raised a hand and motioned him forward. His heart seemed to stall in his chest. Both Ser Arthur and his father’s certainty turned to unease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When none of them moved, the Night King pointed at him and motioned again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How does he know—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is destiny,” his father said. “Would you not also recognize your doom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon could not imagine such a thing. Nor could he have imagined the ice demon standing before him. If this was doom, it was cold and endless. His skin was ice, his eyes bled an eerie blue, daggers of ice arched from his skull in a mockery of a crown. Once more, the Night King motioned to him, and this time, Jon obeyed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His son walked to his destiny, shivering from the cold, his shoulders back and strong. Pride filled Rhaegar to see him, to have watched him grow and train for this very moment. Everything was in place. Destiny was here. Jon would end their world’s cyclical nightmare once and for all. And then, one day, he would be king.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As their blades crossed, Jon’s flaming in a rush of fiery red heat, half a dozen ice men emerged from behind the wood. Rhaegar and Ser Arthur did not hesitate in their charge. They blocked them from Jon, shattered one to crumbled ice on the ground, and a second, too. Rhaegar lost sight of his son then, fighting to guard Jon for his moment—until he realized they were both being led away, instead of driving the ice demons back. Snow began to pick up around them, clouding his vision and obscuring the true fight from sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon!” Rhaegar yelled, and Ser Arthur understood. His oldest friend and truest knight did not hesitate to take on the last four, his second sword in hand. Rhaegar broke through the mass of them, wandered the wrong way into the blowing snow and then back toward the eerie hush at its core. He heard them before he saw them, the blasts of Jon’s fire and the clash of steel on ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The snow stopped at once. A high piercing screech lit the air as the snow faded like morning dew. For a moment, it was clear enough for him to see—and Jon was there, the Night King’s back to Jon’s chest, Jon’s dagger jammed into the monster’s frozen heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let out a shout of victory at the sight, rushed to his son as the air cleared, but something was wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s eyes were wide and black, his face contorting in pain as the Night King dissolved in his embrace. Rhaegar saw it then, Jon’s dagger bare now, but the point aimed back at himself. Something else was at its end. A great dagger of gleaming black glass was lodged in his son’s chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon, no, no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhaegar caught him as he fell, the dagger falling into the snow from Jon’s limp hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did it, you… gods, I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He expected blood to bubble from his son’s lips or even blood to find its way from under his armor to the open air. Overhead the sky was lightening already, the sun rising for the first time in weeks. The wedge of gleaming obsidian seemed to sink deeper into Jon’s chest of its own accord.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on, son. Just—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A frozen hand grabbed his throat. Rhaegar choked, his eyes bulging, but when he fought and tried to find the source, it was no ice demon that had fought free of Ser Arthur. In their stretch of snow it was only him and Jon. His son’s hand was at his throat, tightening, still human and pale and utterly without warmth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The grip on his throat constricted. Ice flooded his skin even as he tried to bring forth his fire to break free. His vision went foggy, then came back in bursts of white spots. When he looked down for the final time, his son’s crystallizing face glared up at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes were cold, and burning.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dany I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back with another one, and we've gone 300 years into the future since last time to kick things off with Dany!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dany rose with the sun, wrapped in her furs and blankets, still half-asleep as she stood upon her balcony to watch it rise. Valyria spread out beneath her. Golden lights spilled in between the dormant volcanoes and mountainous terrain, sparkled on the gray sea to the south. She smiled and let it warm her face, but in a moment it was gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As quick as it rose, the sun set, dropping below the peaks and out of sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Our days are getting shorter.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chill took over her again, the dim gloom of day setting in. Sunlight never lasted for long anymore. Hours, now minutes, seconds soon enough. By her nameday, it might be gone forever. According to her mother, the day she’d been born had been the last true time the sun had stayed to warm them. For hours and hours, it rose high into the sky after a great storm to shine down upon them, but no longer. The world was wasting away into the bitter cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You arrived in dawn’s biggest storm, my love, when the Long Night finally reached our shores,” her mother had told her all her life. “When it tried to take us, you came into the world to send it away. More fire to keep the cold at bay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all had in a way. Her mother and father, brothers, herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once, her family had ruled over all of Westeros, that mysterious land across the Narrow Sea. For three centuries, they’d protected and led those people, through a harsh winter and then a long spring and robust summer. But summer had faded to vibrant autumn, and winter had come again. A traitorous Stark lord had meddled in ice magic long ago, warped himself into a monster, and her ancestors had fallen to him. The Lost Dragonking had disappeared on the battlefield while trying to reclaim Winterfell. And his son, The One Who was Promised, had vanished. Only the queen and her youngest child had survived to flee in the years that had followed. After the False Spring that had followed their Long Night, winter had rushed south once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Westeros was a frozen wasteland now, barren, lifeless except for the Stark demon and his legions of the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d been raised on the nightmarish tales, had watched the sun flee and Valyria, the world’s last true stronghold and warmth, shrink against the growing darkness. Her father had been lost to it, and both her brothers as well when they’d left Valyria some years ago to head north and west. Both men’s bodies had been returned not long after by Braavosi honor guards. They’d been found out on the ice west of the free city, left for nobody knew how long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daenerys, breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother’s smile greeted her when she turned, her fragile figure framed in the doorway, well-worn wooden cane in one hand to support her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing special,” her mother warned as Dany took her arm to help her balance. “Our shipment…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not coming,” Dany deduced. Or had been frozen by the ice expanding in the choppy seas and stranded. Saying it aloud was so difficult when their population was dwindling, and neither she nor her mother could leave. Once, with her brothers alive, they could have gone forth for a diplomatic journey for aid or a search to bring the last ship in. But their fire magic was needed to keep their freehold thriving and warm. Every day her mother was drained when they went through the warming rituals each evening. If Dany left now, their land might fail entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But will we not fall anyway when it is down to only me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Dany knew it for lost. Volantis had fallen silent almost six moons past, and their exchange of goods and food had come to an end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon enough we’ll be the only ones left. If we aren’t already.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They ate together in the gray gloom of their dining hall, candles flickering along the walls to brighten the space. Her mother shuddered as she lit three more upon the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t need to—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must be consistent if I am to maintain our home.” Rhaella gave her a trembling nod, a look that attempted for stern but just made Dany’s stomach clench.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How long until she lost her mother, too—until she was the only Targaryen left in the world? The lone fire against the great storm?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, the day was dim and dark. She met with their ship master, Ser Davos, and found it as she’d anticipated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likely lost for good,” he told her, when she inquired after Volantis. “We’ve sent messages, so far nothing. And the storms and cold on the western shores these days…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is spreading,” she finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all knew it. Every prediction and plan had been made for the inevitable day. Her friend and advisor, Lord Tyrion, was a cynic at every end, but he at least had faith in her to see Valyria through to the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s unsurprising,” he told her, when she met with him later in the day. “Winter has been eating away at Volantis for years now. If a bitter enough cold reached their city, whipped up the storms Braavos has reported north of them, then life is over. Tyrosh, Myr, Pentos have all taught us that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Braavos,” Dany added. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she continued, “We’ve heard and seen nothing from them in a long time either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a longer journey, by foot or raven,” Tyrion said. “But yes, I imagine they’re as frozen and dead as Westeros is now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is left?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice trembled slightly to dare ask such a question. So much of the world was dissolving from both sides. As Westeros’s cold terror spread, slow and methodical and endless, the seas froze, both ends of the Essosi continent disappeared into darkness, and eventually death. Would they be the last—or would they fade and leave someone else to see the end?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meereen still lives,” he said. “Yunkai and Astapor have been abandoned so they can all hide in Meereen together. But Qarth and Asshai…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all knew how that shock had ended. Discovering the world was truly round, that the eastern most shores of Essos curved to the western shores of Westeros had been new knowledge, but not welcome. Not when it meant both cities were ice and corpses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Dothraki?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still living as I understand it, but the numbers shrink as the climate grows colder. Looking to them for trading goods and food, however, is not likely to yield much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will speak to Mother. Meereen may be our best course, though our diets may change quite a bit depending on what they can still grow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother agreed to try, to see what offers they might make to create a trade deal and partnership with whomever was left on that side of the bay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t you fret, we’ll find a way,” her mother assured her. They were doing their evening ritual of fire magic, heating the air and spreading it as far as they could across the small city, timing each wave as they inhaled to fuel the warmth. They could not wield fire without pulling air in, holding it in their chest to fuel the magic in their veins. It was their greatest advantage, their truest strength.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they were finished, her mother had to sit down, shaking, exhausted, sweating and red from the heat she’d poured forth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Rhaella assured her, though Dany had her doubts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every evening, it became more and more her fire, and less her mother’s. Holding her air in her lungs was becoming far more difficult as she aged. Soon, Valyria would rely on Dany alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to do something,” Dany said, her chest aching as she helped her mother inside. The rigid breathing was even hard on her as the cold grew, and they needed to spend longer and longer warming their home. “Our fire magic can withhold the cold, so why can't we just destroy the source? That was Rhaegar and Vis—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will not lose you as well.” Her mother’s tone left room for argument. “It seemed a good plan when they left, the Prince that was Promised being one of them, the end of our line at the end of the world, with the ability to destroy him and save us. They were wrong, Daenerys. We all were. That path leads only to death.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For them it did,” Dany said, her throat tight. She had only fleeting memories of Rhaegar and Viserys, they were both so much older than her, but she remembered their smiles perfectly. “But what if it was wrong? Tyrion thinks the translation was incorrect. That a Princess is just as likely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Daenerys. I will not hear of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with her mother so weak already, she let it go for now. She’d brought up the idea before, more timid and uncertain, but all Rhaegar and Viserys had left behind made her sure there was truth in that prophecy. That hope was still possible at the end of life itself. That a few people trusting that spring was still possible could return the world to its best self.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Meereen’s response was worse than expected. The whole scroll of parchment was threats, proof that on the far side of the bay, the cold had not taken life from them, but that fear was stripping away their humanity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll find no allies anymore,” Tyrion told them, as he, Dany, and her mother reviewed the response. “The west has fallen, the east has abandoned kinship outside their own walls. It may be best—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How shall we celebrate your name day this year?” Rhaella cut in, eyes on Dany. With one look, Dany knew her mother expected it would be their last one together. “A trip down to the shore? Or here in the castle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mother—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should make it the very best day of all,” Rhaella said, and she took Daenerys’s hands and kissed them. “What will it be? It’s next week afterall. You only come of age once, sweetheart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany trembled at her mother’s weak attempt at a smile. Tyrion said nothing, just collected their papers and left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not over,” Dany said once they were alone. “We’re still here. House Targaryen—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will soon be down to one,” Rhaella told her. “I have avoided saying it for so long, but we both know that day is approaching. Valyria will soon begin to starve, the people will turn on one another, and those left will be for you to lead and guide. And I hope you find love, that more come after us, that your life is full and possible. But this year, you turn sixteen, my sweet girl. Let us celebrate and enjoy ourselves, just this once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can have so many more,” Dany argued, and she could not stop her tears from burning her eyes. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If I go north and west, if I find him and destroy that Stark </span>
  <em>
    <span>bastard—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daenerys.” Her mother took her hands again and made her look her in the eye. “Give me this day, sweetheart, and if… if you are still set on this path, we’ll discuss it after your name day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Dany gave her that, if only to stop her mother’s tears from joining hers.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>So they celebrated, down on the shore of their volcanic mountain home. Tyrion was there, and Ser Davos and her orphaned friend, Missandei, who had been part of a Naathi group that had fled their frozen home to Valyria a few years ago.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t wait until I turn sixteen,” Missandei said. Her golden eyes sparkled as they walked the coast, let the chilly water wash over their bare feet. “I bet I’ll be taller than you by then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany glared at her playfully. She wasn’t short on average, but she was not tall either. Missandei, however, at only thirteen was closing in on her fast. If they were lucky, Missandei would live to see that age. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You will be. I take after Mother, not Father like my brothers did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Missandei’s smile shrunk. “I miss having brothers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both had died on the journey to Valyria, leaving Missandei as alone as Dany would one day be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We can be each other’s family until the end. Find love, perhaps, and marry someday.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wondered more and more if that day might ever come. The world was fading into twilight, and hope had abandoned all of them so long ago. But she couldn’t help by cling to the idea of a future, of being allowed to dream of a lover and children, of the sun warming her skin every afternoon like it had for her ancestors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So do I, but we’re near enough sisters,” Dany told her, and for Missandei that was enough for now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they returned to their castle home and slept, Dany fell into a dream unlike any she’d experienced before. Flashes of places dead and cold, sometimes vibrant and warm; glimpses in the deep dark, sped through her. Every time she blinked, a shadow moved over her. She seemed to be floating, from frozen seas, to dead cities, to the eerie blue glow of something terrible and towering on the horizon. Her heart pounded so loud in her ears it was near deafening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And a voice called out to her, insisted on speaking for her ears alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You must… reach the west… pass beneath the shadow…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was as if whomever was speaking to her was lost in a high wind, the strong gusts ripping most of the words from the air. The scene changed faster than before, her heart racing to chase it. Everything was a blur. Wolves and men, banners of a million colors, children with leaves in their hair, and a great red mask, who’s eyes flashed open to reveal the most frightful blue she had ever known.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany woke gasping for air, drenched in sweat and shaking from the heavy chill in her room. When she went to her balcony to see that brief glimpse of the sunrise, it never came. The deeper darkness of night lightened to a dull gray, but the sun never appeared. Her dream lingered with her, like a shadow across her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found her mother seated upon her own balcony, watching the horizon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had hoped we had more time,” Rhaella said when Dany took a seat beside her. “But I know you far too well to think I could stop you now the endless night has reached us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mother, I have to try.” Her dream only made her more convinced she was right. “Even in my dreams, just last night…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That perked her mother up in alarm. “What was it? What did you see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany bit her lip, unable to explain. Even as she tried to pull out each individual flash, tried to parse together something coherent about the places and glimpses, they were already falling away. Smoke would have been easier to grasp in her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A lot of places, most I didn’t recognize, but Valyria went cold,” Dany told her. “And there was… I think it was him. The Night King. And a woman’s voice, saying I have to reach the west or pass beneath some sort of shadow. It didn’t all make sense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dragon dreams rarely do.” Her mother’s expression had changed entirely. Fear was still written in the lines of her face, but a bludgeoning hope was rising, too. “They say Aegon himself had prophetic dreams, that it was his ancestor Daenys’s dreams that led our family from Valyria to Westeros to face winter all those years ago. And perhaps…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother sniffled, wiped at the tears in the corner of her eyes. “I have dreaded so long that I might lose you, too, Dany. But not near as much as I have dreaded the thought of leaving you behind all alone. Rhaegar and Viserys weren’t much older than you are now. Ready for an adventure, to be heroes for the whole world to adore. Rhaegar studied those ancient prophecies from dawn to dusk and then some. After they were returned to us, I always hoped it wouldn’t have to be you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nobody else left,” Dany said. Her body was shaking, trembling with anticipation and fear and the hope that perhaps it had not been all for not that the Targaryens had returned to Valyria. Perhaps she would not be the last, only the last to live under this endless winter engulfing the world. “And at this point, who else is there to go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhaella sighed. “You’re like your brother was. Rhaegar,” she clarified. “Viserys wanted to help, too, its true, but he was not as driven. He followed Rhaegar everywhere, though, and I am proud that he kept his brother’s good principles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I not try when the alternative is sitting here, watching you die while trying to keep our city alive? If I can save you from that, if I can protect all of us, why shouldn’t I do so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because if you leave, this city will be abandoned to its own demise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not so long as you live.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I do,” Rhaella said, “but it is your magic sustaining us. I can try, Daenerys, give you time, but if you don’t return we fall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We fall regardless. This is a path to save us, I cannot turn my back upon it. The Lost Dragonking’s son was thought to be the one to save everyone, we descended from his younger brother’s line. If it is a Targaryen, why can't it be the last?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, her mother only watched her, seemed to take in her face and determined expression, and finally, she nodded her consent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not a princess? As you’re always telling me, there’s no reason it cannot be. And Rhaegar never had such dreams as you did last night, just hopes they would come to him once he left. Perhaps you will save those of us that can hang on just a bit longer in these end times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will not fail, Mother. Give me one year, and if I cannot succeed, I will come home. Can you wield the magic here for that long alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am aging and frail, but fire is my heart, Daenerys Targaryen. I will give my last breath if it means our people outlive me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany threw her arms around her, even as terror clenched her insides at the decision they were making. She’d never left Valyria. Leaving was too dangerous, and had been for years and years for their family. The city depended too much on their fire magic to warm their home, and as their numbers dwindled, their individual importance only grew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do it, Mother, I swear it. I’ll find him and finish this. Spring will reach our shores before I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother did not smile, but she did kiss her cheek. “I have every faith in you. I always have.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>These next few will probably be on the shorter side of things, just getting Dany on the move, off to meet her, uh, doom... Doom? Sure, doom sounds good until we encounter Jon again, haha.</p>
<p>Next update may or may not be before the next Penumbra Queens chapter since this one is shorter, written besides the editing, annnnd writing is just hard right now.</p>
<p>Anyway, stay safe, wear a mask, kick a fascist in the ass, etc. etc. you know the drill, ciao!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dany II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another short chapter, some more Dany. Time to leave Valyria behind!</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her plans were set and her necessities packed within a week, arguing with Tyrion, Davos, and Missandei on her going alone or with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s foolish,” Tyrion insisted, pacing about her chambers as she examined her new gloves carefully for holes or tears. “However well you wield fire, you cannot watch your own back. You have no idea what you may be walking into up north, or across the sea if you make it that far.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if the snow is too deep, you will not be able to walk,” Dany countered. “The old stories say they could be dozens of feet deep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. If you find a weak spot, who will be there to help get you out? Fire can melt, but it will not help you climb back to the top.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That did give her pause, but more questions, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You cannot pull me out alone, Tyrion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Davos and I can. My legs are stunted, but my arms are strong enough. And my knowledge may be of assistance when we reach Westeros. If the Wall still stands like it’s mentioned in the books from that time, we have no way around, over, or underneath it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it stands. Nobody has been to see it in over a century.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you cannot magic yourself back here to brainstorm with me if it does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can go directly north from Braavos, across the frozen sea, until I’m far enough north of its location to be past it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos appeared then, with an update on her ship’s preparations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s ready when you are, though Tyrion is right. I have sailed all my life, Princess. You’ll need me at the very least for that portion,” Davos said simply. “And forgive me for saying, but you’re near a daughter to me. I have no intention of letting you go alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Missandei that finally persuaded her, bringing in another parcel of food for her journey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You stand the best chance with allies,” she told Dany without prompting. “If I cannot go, you should take Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her friend gave her a worried smile, so young and gentle still. Missandei was far too young to join her, to put a child in such danger, but her mind was as bright as her eyes and smile. Finally, after days of debate, Dany conceded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, the three of us then. Pack tonight,” Dany told both men. “We’ll leave tomorrow instead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Princess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Missandei hugged her tight. “I will take care of the queen while you’re away. Make sure she’s eating, sleeping, that she isn’t overdoing her fire magic. I have thought of a few ideas that might help her, maybe. Move the heat and warmth further out, faster.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s great, but you let her take care of you, too, understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother’s fear was clear when they woke the next morning. Dany was excited to go, to see her hopes through. North and then west, until she found this malicious heart of winter and brought an end to it. But leaving her mother, possibly losing her for good, was hard to grasp. Rhaella had always been with her. Since she’d been born in that great storm, with her first steps, first lessons and mistakes. Life had always involved her support and love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are so much more capable than you know,” Rhaella whispered in her ear as they embraced on the chilly royal dock. “With Tyrion and Davos, I have every faith in you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And for the first time, Dany had a sliver of doubt in whether or not she had that same faither in herself. She’d never stepped out into the world on her own. So much of the world was gone now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I fail?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They broke apart, stepped a little further away from Tyrion and Davos discussing last minute details.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Failure is not an end, Dany,” her mother said. “It is a moment when you decide who you are going to be after. And the woman I have raised will learn and try and go until she gets things right and does what is best. Always have faith in yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was hugged once more, and Dany clung on to her mother for just a bit longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They said their goodbyes, Davos to his wife and sons, and Tyrion to his wife and niece. Gloom and grayness swallowed their boat almost at once when they sailed away from the dock and turned south. Dany watched Valyria’s peaks and towers until they disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With any luck, the ice will be further west than we planned for,” Davos said, steering their little ship, the wind tugging them forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany hoped the same, and eventually settled into a fitful sleep as the day wore on. Her dreams were of victory, of the ground beneath her melting to warm, wet grass. To life blossoming like all the books described. Flowers blooming in vibrant, plentiful colors, the sun staying to warm their faces, to transform the land into a bountiful, lush place once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the ice kept creeping back, no matter how much fire she unleashed. Every time Dany turned it was crackling across the ground, spreading, growing untamed, reaching out to her. And a voice spoke as the darkness grew around her, calm and certain, and lighter than air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west, you must go east.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A mask of fire burst through the dark and rushed her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany woke with a start, gasping for breath, the room boiling from the fire magic heat she’d let off while sleeping. She calmed herself quickly before flames joined the steam and heat. Nobody was with her. Underneath her cot, the sea rocked their ship and the sounds of the water soothed her racing pulse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d had many dreams over the course of her life, including a recurring one of being chased by talking snakes, but none had ever felt like these did. As if her sleeping moments were more real than her waking ones. </span>
</p>
<p><em><span>I’m already going south,</span></em> <em><span>it is the faster way.</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>But east was foolish. Her dreams were, too, as many dreams tended to be. East was the long way around, potentially through more frozen waters and lands, but most certainly through lands they had few maps and understandings of compared to the knowledge that had fled Westeros with their ancestors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dreams can only guide so much,” Dany told herself, “I can’t turn back or waste that much time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A week’s journey south and then west, the sheets of ice began to appear floating atop the steel sea. Davos was unconcerned and unsurprised, but Tyrion, who’d spent half the journey seasick, began to fret at the sights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the nearest port to our north?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos snorted. “No ports left this far west anymore. If the ice extends too far south, it’s too much of a risk to dock on the ice. Odds are the ship will freeze solid and we’ll have no way back. Or no boat, once our Princess achieves her goal. Spring will melt all of this. Our ship would end up who knows where if we dock on the ice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Continue forward,” Dany decided. “Turn northwest more and we’ll see where we find ourselves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They found an end far quicker than expected. Her firelight led the way, a steady stream of it lighting their ice and sea before them as the clouds gathered and the cold and dark grew. Within hours the ice was no longer small sheets floating beside them, but chunks the side of rooms, some that expanded so far out of sigh to the north, they could not see their far edges. Davos brought them to a stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Any further will be dangerous this way.” He sighed, squinting into the fog and swirling snowflakes. “Princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both turned to her, and Dany tossed out a huge blast of fire to give them another glimpse of the icy wasteland around them. Her arm trembled from the release. She’d trained in fire magic since she was small, had mastered all that her family could teach her, but while their history suggested it had once been offensive and defensive and aggressive, their knowledge now was not such. They learned to protect and warm the world, not fight in wars that had long since ended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winter had done that. The Night King had united them in their terror, but not in their hopes and survival.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You must go east.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure if it was her own mind recalling that eerie voice from her dreams, or if it was singing through the air around her. Dany glanced around their ship, at the ice glowing pale in the dark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn us around, Ser Davos. We’ll sail to the northern shore of the bay, and go on foot from there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ser Davos nodded and began his new task, but Tyrion followed her below deck, anxious at their new course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meereen will not welcome us,” he reminded her. “That last message from them was nothing friendly. They’ve lost themselves to their fear, are likely as dangerous as our intentions to hunt down the Night King.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We aren’t going to Meereen,” Dany said. “We’ll hug the Valyrian edge of the bay, dock near the Black Cliffs or Bhorash and cross the Dothraki Sea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion nodded, still concerned, but perhaps less so to know more specifics. “We don’t know what we’ll find in Bhorash since it was abandoned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you ever been to see it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d been a small girl when that news had come, had heard little to nothing of the small city along the bay’s northern coast growing up. So many places had fallen. To fear or starvation, others to the cold of winter’s end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once. As a babe, my mother and father took us along the coast at King Aerys’s request. Many had been abandoned, but I believe Bhorash still stood. It’s small, like Astapor was, perhaps smaller.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll know soon enough when we see its ruins or whomever may have moved into the city since then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion nodded. “I’m going to hate that long of a walk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll steal some Dothraki horses,” Dany joked, and that won her a rare, real smile. “Get some sleep, and I will keep Davos company.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll prefer that,” Tyrion told her. “He thinks I talk too much.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bhorash was a barren echo chamber when they arrived. Sand and icy crusts of snow were all that moved inside the walls, drifting around in swirls as the wind whistled through the empty roads and alleyways. Dany had expected barrenness, wastelands of white, frozen silence, but an empty city held an eeriness she could not have imagined. Every step and empty doorway was a warning that settled in her heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I fail, this is Valyria. If winter’s heart bleeds any further, this is the future of the entire world.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nobody,” Dany called when she and Tyrion returned to the dock where Davos was loading their miniscule supplies on their sled. “It’s empty still. Not even an animal in sight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Best to be cautious anyway,” Davos warned her. “Lots of places to hide in a city.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But if his worries were true, they weren’t aware of it. Between the rock and sand buildings, the crumbling roofs and random items half-buried in the road. Those that had lived here had clearly left in a rush, dropping plates and baskets, even what seemed to be blankets in some cases. They passed by it all, examining some of what was left, looking for anything of interest or use going forward. By the time they reached the northern gates, they’d found only an old steel helm that fit Davos almost as well as his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The darker gray of evening was quickly filling the sky as they barricaded themselves in the guard tower at the gate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kip here tonight, then its a long walk to Braavos,” Tyrion said. “Perhaps we can take some of the olive trees with us as wood for fires. Chop them down before we leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Break their trunks with our bare hands, more likely,” Dany said, yawning. “They’ve been dead a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we’ll see if the wood’s useful or—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos fell silent, his head jerking around to their only tiny window. Off in the distance, a great howl had split the silent night. They all turned to the window as it faded, but in moments, a second and third had sung back across the land.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wolves,” Tyrion said, frowning. “They had them in Westeros long ago, likely died out from the cold, I had thought.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least we know for certain the sea is frozen solid then, if they’ve made it this far east.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, a comfort and a worry if they decide to hunt us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They settled back down, listening to the song of wolves echoing through the night. Each howl made her shiver, not exactly frightened, but something she could not quite express. Love was in their howls as they joined together as one, but sadness and grief, too. She thought of her mother as she drifted to sleep, and hoped, back home she was faring well, that Valyria remained safe and warm and full of life unlike the dead city around her.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise the next few chapters are a lot longer as these three journey across the world to the Wall. Next update will be sometime after my next Penumbra Queens update.</p>
<p>Until then, stay safe! Byyyyyye!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dany III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Team Valyria makes for Braavos and makes some discoveries along the way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another updaaaate!!!</p><p>Which should be that surprisingly since half of this was written for NaNoWriMo and just needs to be edited. I think I'm going to aim for updating twice a month, while still rotating with Penumbra Queens which I am writing as I'm posting. I've got like eight and a half chapters for this one, so... let's hope I can get PQ off to the races a bit more and start writing this one where it's left off atm.</p><p>But for now, enjoy a longer chapter than the last few!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wolves’ howls followed them as the weeks dragged on. Once they were past the rocky shores, the Dothraki Sea opened up before them, pale white grass swaying in the wind. Everything Dany had been told and read had not prepared her for the sight. The grasses here were meant to be greens, yellows, colorful and lively. But white grass filled the world before them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghost grass,” Tyrion said, as he examined a strand. “This shouldn’t be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany knelt down in order to see it up close. At a distance, she’d thought it frozen in ice, but it wasn’t. Snow dotted the ground beneath, but the grass was palest white. In the growing dark of the northern lands, it almost seemed to glow. Tyrion took his knife out and cut a few pieces to take with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With any luck, these will make it home with us once we’re done with our task.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued their trek, the grass a thick, pale, swaying shield around them as they moved into its mass. Warmth greeted them with the protection from the wind. Dany felt as if she was inside a cloud, slowly sliding across the dull sky of her childhood. Too often now, clouds and night merged as one on the horizon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they stopped to eat and rest for a few hours, the sky above was freckled with stars, glowing bright like the grass around them. After living so long in a dull and dark world, Dany’s eyes hurt from the brightness of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get the feeling when we defeat him and the sun returns, we’ll all go blind from the light,” Dany said as they settled in. “I hope it’s gradual and not immediate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time and our perseverance will tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dozed off in shifts, Tyrion with first watch, then Davos, and then her. He woke her for her turn, and Dany yawned and shivered as she sat up. She stoked the fire and used her magic to grow it slightly larger as Davos went back to sleep. Sword at her hip, she leaned back against her pack to watch the sky, wondering what awaited her across the seas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The night shall end when dragons are one again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany jolted upright, half-expecting that she’d fallen asleep on her watch, but the world was clear and solid around her. Ghost grass swayed in the light breeze, the stars twinkled in the dark, and beside her the little fire was warm and lively. Her shadow flickered over the pale glow, and then a ruby red mask appeared in the dark, bold against the white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire burst to life in her palm as she stood, ready and able to fight if needed, though it stuttered in and out when she spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mask stepped forward, a slim body forming beneath it, cloaked in black, no hands or feet in sight. All Dany could see was the eyes behind it, watching her intently. They shined like the sun through the eye holes, beacons of a lost time she’d never known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daenerys Targaryen.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know me?” Dany demanded. “How are you here and in my dreams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The being did not answer, merely shrank back into the ghost grass and disappeared. Dany rushed after them, pushing the grass aside, her flames dying in her palm so as not to set the whole place on fire. But she could see the dark shape in the glowing white, the bold red mask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west you must go east,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the voice said, echoing to her as if she were underwater. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>To go forward he must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go back? Who is—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>As one.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow and mask of her visitor vanished. Dany stopped her jogging fight through the grass as silence fell once more. Nobody was in sight, neither did the grass shift as if someone was moving though its thick growth. When she turned back to the camp, frustrated and confused, the being was right in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You are not alone.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany stumbled backward in surprise, tripped and fell back into the thick grass. She was alone when she sat up and got her bearings. For a few moments, she sat in the silence, watching, waiting, her heart racing, but the visitor did not appear again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She received no answer. Dany climbed to her feet, straightened her cloak and layers of warm clothing, when she heard an answer behind her. Not a human answer either, but the soft whinny of a horse, weak, almost frail upon the air. Thinking of the Dothraki, of a scout about to come upon them, Dany grabbed the pommel of her sword, ready. A massacre of horseflesh greeted her when she broke through the grass, the swaying pale weeds falling away to an open clearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horses lay dead, scattered across the frozen ground. Red seeped into the pale layer of ice. The flesh steamed in the cold, freshy dead still, though nobody else was in sight. Across the expanse of death, another whinny greeted her, louder than before, frantic and scared. Carefully, Dany made her way through the slaughter, the torn throats and bellies, the slick piles of guts and innards littering the ground. A pale mare was stamping her hooves at the far edge of the clearing, eyes rolling with fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, it’s all right,” Dany murmured, and she could not fathom how one horse had survived in the near two dozen that lay dead. It was only her here. No wolves or Dothraki in sight, though she assumed these horses must have been theirs. Many had reins upon their faces, others blood drenched blankets that had served as saddles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes of soothing sounds and gentle approaches, Dany had the reins of the surviving horse in hand and was guiding the mare away from the carnage, murmuring sweetly and rubbing her snout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re safe with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion was awake when she returned, glaring and annoyed until he spotted the horse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you steal from the Dothraki?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Dany said, rolling her eyes. “There was—I heard something not far off and went to see what it was. Someone massacred a group of horses. Wolves maybe. I did not see anyone else, just this one, screaming and scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed annoyed still, but appraised the horse with interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will be good to have a horse along. You’re certain there was nobody?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Dany said. “Nobody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought of her mysterious visitor, both in her dreams, and now, it seemed, in her waking moments. Nobody else had mentioned her or seen her. And if this person, this woman, was responsible for the horses that lay dead just to their north—why? What purpose would such an unnecessary amount of death serve?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It gave us a horse</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dany realized after they had packed up and began their trek once more. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But at what cost?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Davos and Tyrion were alarmed at the sight of the slaughter, examining the quickly freezing corpses and the blood turned to ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not clean enough for swords or </span>
  <em>
    <span>arahks</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Davos said. “Wolves have been nearby, perhaps this herd were abandoned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like their riders died a time ago.” Tyrion stooped down beside him and examined the human-created articles among the remains. “These are hardly new or well-kept when you look past the blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany took a look at his inspection. Frayed threads, tears and thick crusts of mud and what may have been bird feces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is anyone outside of Valyria left anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just us and his wretched Grace,” Tyrion muttered. “Come, before we spook our new companion any further.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d left the silver-white mare a good distance to the west of the clearing. As soon as they’d gotten in range, she’d gotten nervous, pawing the ground and fighting at her reins. Death’s scent lingered on the air, even after they’d left the carnage well behind. Dany knew it ought not be possible to still smell it miles off, but the scent seemed to clog her nostrils, burrow into her skin and hover with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shivered as a light snow began to fall, and wondered if the haunting smell was not a warning to turn back. To go home and savor the last days of all she had ever known.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I cannot go back without trying. Rhaegar and Viserys died trying so that I would not have to do this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And her strange visitor’s words stuck with her, too. Encouraging her onward, for what reason or intentions she did not know, but she trusted them somehow, despite all of her senses being on alert at the eeriness of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would find him and defeat him, prevail as no other had, and when it was gone, her strange visitor would be right on one count at least. The dragons would be one again. Her and her mother, and perhaps, someday, her own children, too.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>True to the first half of their journey, they saw no other humans as they journeyed north and then sharply west. Every day grew darker and colder. Overhead clouds threatened to slow their pace. Most days it snowed in some capacity, sometimes fluttering flurries and other times so thick it was difficult to see the way forward. Dany led them, fire in her hands and sometimes bursting through the dark ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We ought to reach whatever is left of Braavos soon,” Tyrion told them. “At least tonight we are warm and will not wake under fresh snow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d found a small outcropping of rocks once they’d passed through the dying, wintry forest of Qohor, a little cave to hunker down in for the night. Another abandoned city had greeted them that morning, Qohor or Norvos, but none of them were sure anymore. Their mare was still with them, a sweet and gentle horse that loved nothing more than when they unhooked her from their sled so she could play in the snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve lasted this long,” Davos said, his voice stern with hope. “Of all the Free Cities, they were the closest and the strongest. True winter has reached them, isolated them from contacting us. In Braavos, we’ll find friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany hoped so. She ached for her mother’s warmth, for Missandei’s bright laughter and friendship. Both Tyrion and Davos were wonderful, too, resilient and strong companions, but their friendship was not the same as what she’d left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll rest there either way, give ourselves a break, and our horse friend, too.” Tyrion slurped his watery soup and grimaced. Their best supplies were dwindling, and the earth had been barren of anything edible since they’d left Valyria. “From Braavos to Westeros, across nothing but ice, will be the hardest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany swallowed and nodded. They were nearing the place where her brothers had been found, frozen and blue-faced, dead upon the icy expanse that Braavos had once scouted for safety. News from Braavos had been one of their greatest assets. Accountings of walking corpses, of examinations of their decaying bodies had been of great help to her brothers’ preparations and journey. Knowing how deep and dark their winter was compared to their own at any given time had been useful, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The narrow sea has been frozen for decades,” Dany reminded him. “Especially the northern reaches. At least we don’t need to worry about the ice breaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only the blizzards that are likely to blow up around us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their tent had survived so far, and for the most part they’d had very little use for it. But out in the wide open, at the mercy of the wind and snow and ice, it might be all that saved them as they crossed the frozen sea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll manage,” Davos said as he finished his own dinner. “And if it comes down to food shortages…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sad eyes fell to their horse companion, munching on the grass they’d collected for her in the Dothraki Sea. Dany had already grown to adore her bubbly spirit, her sweetness and resilience. But if it meant the difference between starvation or horse meat, they all knew the outcome. And if the mare died from the elements, they would not allow her remains to go to waste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll manage. Perhaps on the way back, we’ll be able to fish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earned her a grin from Davos and groan of longing from Tyrion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I would not give for a perfectly cooked fish, fresh caught from the sea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany smiled and did her best to hope. She stepped outside to relieve herself as the men readied themselves for sleep. Her mare joined her, nosing at her back and making curious noises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will piss on you if you keep that up,” Dany warned her. The mare snorted and shook out her silver mane. “First watch is ours, girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settled in sight of the cave entrance, their little fire crackling and smoking slightly. Her silver settled down for the night and Dany joined her, propping herself up against the horse’s side. She could just see the stars filling the sky beyond. Stars were their own guide without the sun. Old stories and books said the direction the sun rose and set in had once been the easiest way to navigate out in the wilds, but those days were long past. They traveled like sailors in the midst of a vast sea, when night fell so dark and deep the sky and sea seemed joined endlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite herself, Dany dozed off, tired from the constant walking, the aches in her feet and calves and back. She opened her eyes to a vision of clear skies that were almost the color of her mother’s pale lilac eyes. Hints of blue touched the horizon like brush strokes on a painting. Warmth sang through the air all around. At once, Dany knew she was dreaming, and that her mysterious visitor was around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d not seen the woman again in her waking hours, but the stranger haunted her rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany took in the sunlight of her dream, sweating under all of her furs and cloak. When the masked stranger did not appear at once, she stripped her cloak and most of her furs off, wiping the sweat from her brows. She was somewhere unfamiliar as usual in these dreams, but a new unusual until before. A crumbling red castle rose high above her, mounted atop a hill to rival some of the mountains she’d grown up seeing in Valyria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>To go forward he must go back.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany jumped. Beside her was the masked woman, the outline of her dark cloak and red mask wavering, like an image held underwater and distorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Dany demanded, without any real expectation of an answer. She’d asked a hundred times now and been given no answers. “I’m sick of your riddles, I want the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shiny eyes gazed up at her through the eye holes. A certainty that was unnerving looked back at her as the moments stretched on in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pass beneath the shadow, Daenerys Targaryen. Be one again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“One </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the moment was gone, snatched from her grasp as Tyrion shook her awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dozed off, did we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, glanced behind him at Davos stoking the fire for a small breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re all exhausted, Princess, and safe enough here, it seems.” He fastened his cloak over his furs. “I need your help to unbury us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unbury?” It was then she saw it, the entrance blocked by several feet of snow. When she rose to her feet, it was almost to her waist. “How long did we sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too long it seems,” Davos muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the men packed up, ate, and fed their mare, Dany used a controlled bit of fire magic to melt the snow at the cave’s entrance. It was difficult work, controlling the flame to melt the snow to carve a pathway quickly, but not too quickly so as to flood their cave and make their belongings soggy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough she was done and fed, and outside, the world was a thick blanket of winter unlike any snow she’d ever seen.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Braavos’s towering titan was the first sign of civilization they saw a week later. Snow covered the landscape, made the going treacherous, but its one benefit was its brightness. Despite the growing dark, the snow glowed like a beacon in all directions. She only needed her fire magic to warm them, to steam the air and their mare. The deeper the snow piled up, the more blistering the air became, the more their horse began to falter and thin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can leave her in Braavos with their people,” Davos said. They’d stopped for the day, found another small cave as they skirted along the rocky hills. The Titan of Braavos rose in the distance, a great spire of ice and stone, its sword raised to the sky. “She’ll be better off, be tended to instead of brought along to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if nobody is there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We cannot feed her forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already they were running out of the grass they’d collected. If Braavos had supplies, they could manage, but Dany’s doubts grew with each consecutively colder day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have calmer her and left her in her home,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them said anything to that, though Davos squeezed her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re less likely to starve,” he finally said, and though it was true, it gave Dany no comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When morning arrived, she had to unbury them once again, then coax the mare into the snow. She snorted and resisted a bit, but finally obeyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Braavos appeared in the distance proper within an hour, sprawled out across the frozen lagoon. Where the land and sea met, Dany could only guess. Gone were the identifiable isles she’d seen on old maps, merged seamlessly into the sea. High up, the great titan stood strong and encased in shards of ice, as if the wind had blown water onto it with such force that the cold had frozen each splash in mid-motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No smoke in sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Dany agreed. “It looks as dead as all the rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They passed through the broken gates without incident, saw no other warm puffs of breath other than their own. Both Tyrion and Davos had a weapon in hand, herself a palm of flame. She could not explain why the eerie silence here felt so different than the others. Perhaps it was knowing this city had still been thriving not a year past. Maybe it was the cold harshness of a true winter settling in with the truth they were intentionally heading to face. Dany could not put her finger on it, but their mare could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The horse gave a scream and reared, starling all three of them. Davos moved to calm her, but their mare seemed beyond reason. She fought and jerked and screamed and screamed as they stopped in the middle of the snow-packed road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, girl,” Dany said, trying to calm her as well but it did no good. Before either of them could help, the mare had broken free of the rope they’d used to attach their sled to her and bolted out of the gates and into the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something crackled behind them. Dany twisted around, her hands bursting into flames. Every nerve was alight with fear. From out of the darkness, spots of brightest blue began to appear, two, then four, then a dozen more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps the horse had the right idea,” Tyrion said, and his idle sarcasm ended with a sharp inhale of fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before them, almost a dozen people had emerged from the snowy dark. Every single one was rotting, frozen, blotted with death. Their hands were charred black, their eyes glowing like sapphires. How they were moving left Dany with little doubt of who was responsible. Within seconds, the small group of the dead were lunging toward them, moving like they were having fits and fighting toward them as much as against themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany took the lead, her fire blazing bright. A wall of fire rose up before her, towering and fierce, and the dead, instead of backing down, ran right into it. Two managed to get through, charred and shrieking like a shrill wind. Davos cut the one off at the neck, Tyrion the second at the waist with his axe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She held the magic as long as she could, her breath stuttering from the effort, her lungs aching as she tried not to breathe in the ash and flame. After a few minutes, and another dozen walking corpses, Davos gave a nod as he peered through the wall of fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany let go, gasping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many do you think they number?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davos only shook his head at Tyrion’s question, supporting Dany’s weight as she breathed deeply once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Braavos was still thriving when it fell,” he said. “If they went all at once, could be hundreds, maybe a few thousand. We can not stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But with the street cleared and silence fallen once more, they took the risk of checking some of the nearby buildings. Windows had been smashed in, snow had been swept inside most, and in one of the bedrooms of the second home, they found a sight that turned Dany’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the dead now walked, but others had been frozen in place, sheeted in ice so thin and cold it seemed to be no more than a layer of skin. Upon the bed was a father and two little children, frozen in death and sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I imagine the ones we just met happened first, and then this.” Dany bent down beside them to examine them. They looked peaceful, but cold. When she touched the little boy’s cheek it was as hard as stone. “How cold would it have to be to do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Colder than anything we’ve ever heard of,” Tyrion said as he examined them, too. “Hopefully colder than anything ahead of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he did not sound confident on that count, and Dany did not feel so either. In Valyria, winter was edging in, dusting their mountains and forcing their volcanoes into hibernation from the cold. Snow was a common event, but they still had days when their shriveled grass underneath made its appearance. Winter, true and dark and deep, was words on a page to them. What came across the frozen sea could be anything and everything and nothing they’d planned for when they’d set out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll take the blankets,” Davos said, tugging a few from the icy wardrobe. “And see if there’s any food downstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They found some grain and frozen bread, but nothing more. Each house was similar. Some had barricaded their front doors, the wood gouged and shredded by claw marks in the shape of a human hand. Others had clearly not had the chance. For more than one entryway was a massacre, blood splashed upon the floors and walls, a now frozen body’s torso ripped open and scattered about the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a dozen houses, and a small heap of blankets and questionable food, they turned back to the gate they’d come through and left Braavos’s icy tomb behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“North and quick around,” Tyrion insisted, struggling though he was through the deeper snows on his short legs. “More may still be in the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or wandering out here upon the ice,” Dany argued. “We’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight, see if our horse comes back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s like to be long gone,” Davos said gently. “Not that I blame her with how the dead smelled. Perhaps she’ll make it back to her home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Dany knew she would not. They’d travelled together for months now, had fed her the entire way west and north. No food existed between here and the Dothraki Sea. Guilty squirmed inside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They found an old ship north of Braavos, leaning where it was frozen in the sea. After a quick sweep for the living dead and the frozen dead, they shut themselves and their sled inside. The ship had been abandoned it seemed, for how long Dany could only make guesses at. It was clearly Braavosi by the build, according to Tyrion, but they all knew why the ship had laid anchor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone would think the city safer,” Davos reasoned as they created a little fire for warmth and Dany used her fire magic to defrost the small window so that she could pry it open to let the smoke out. “For a while, perhaps it was for these sailors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have enough food to cross the sea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we’re able to move quickly and don’t run into any more dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany settled down between them, cowered together for warmth as snow drifted in through the window and little wisps of smoke trickled out. The storm outside seemed to be weakening, at least, a good sign for the morning’s departure. They ate a handful of nuts they’d found a case of in Braavos, then a watery bowl of soup each. Dany drifted off into a restless sleep for once free of her strange visitor. She dreamt of her mother’s radiant smile instead, the delight and cheers her triumphant return would bring when she stepped into Valyria again one day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could not say how long she slept, only that she startled awake some time later. Both Davos and Tyrion were drooling and snoring beside her. Their fire had dwindled to sparking embers, but the snow outside had stopped. The round window emitted a glow, its bluish shadow falling upon the wall where her face was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany untangled herself from the blankets and her companions and crept over to look outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The horizon was vibrant and blue, glowing like the sunrise she could scarcely recall from her childhood. Hues of white and blue, cerulean and deep navy lit the sky to the north. She felt like a golden dragon sparkling from the bottom of a bowl of water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing and nobody moved on the icy barren expanse around their frozen ship. Dany watched and watched the eerie glow, but it did not dissipate and it did not grow either. It simply remained as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tyrion, Davos, get up.” She had to shake them both repeatedly to get a response. “You’ve got to see this, to the north.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davos grumbled but stood, ducking down to peer through the window. He swore in surprise and that was enough to get Tyrion moving. Dany helped him drag one of the barrels over so that he could stand on it to look out at the glowing horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cannot make out any buildings or shapes to it,” he said after a few minutes. “No moon or sun in sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old sailor tales used to talk of queer lights dancing in the skies to the north,” Davos offered. “Could be that, but the color…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like their eyes were,” Dany finished.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Worth a look, I suppose,” Tyrion said, finally giving in to her urges after they’d had another small meal and left their ship. “And you’re right, if its not a massive army of them come to devour us, it would be nice to have the light to see by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what or whom they were heading for was anybody’s guess. Her and Davos each took hold of the sled’s rope and pulled it out onto the ice, relieved to find it moved marginally better than before. They turned northwest, angling as close as they dared to the light. Every step seemed to make it glow brighter, until the entire sky was radiating the eerie blueness. Even in the air around them, it seemed to dance as if to say hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion kept stopping to peer into the glowing distance, and finally, when they were close enough that the entire sky was bright, he called out, “It’s a wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wall, if I’m not mistaken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“North of Braavos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany and Davos exchanged a skeptical look. The idea seemed preposterous, but they had no other suggestions to offer up either. Soon enough, however, they had their answer. The Wall glared down at them, a solid mass of ice that rose into the sky. Centuries ago, the Stark lord who had become the Night King had created it, or so the legends said. To seal his lands off and hide his fortress, to prepare his army to end all that was good and living. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped and gazed at it, saw the wisps of dancing blue and white light emanating from its surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did it get so far east? And south?” Dany wondered aloud. “Braavos is much further south than where our maps mark it in Westeros.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maps can be wrong,” Tyrion said. “And ours of Westeros are very old. They came over with Queen Lyanna and Prince Aegon, nobody else has been there or back since they fled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They trekked closer, glad for the light, but their swords were in hand, watching the quiet snow around them. If there were more dead anywhere, Dany imagined in sight of the Wall would be one of the best places to spot them. Perhaps a tunnel had been dug through the mass of ice for them to come and go freely from the living world to the Night King’s domain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Wall, however, was solid. Unmarked by time or any human means, it rose straight toward the sky, towering hundreds of feet above. Dany and Davos eased the sled to a stop and joined Tyrion closer to it. At once, her skin prickled, her unease growing. Nothing seemed amiss, not even when she was a foot from its chilling cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It fits the descriptions,” Tyrion said. “He created it overnight, they say, I see no reason to think he would not stop expanding it across the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way under or over or through,” Davos muttered. “How are we meant to go around it when its already grown this far to the east?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can scout a bit further along,” Dany said, gesturing toward the right, but her gaze was fixed on the Wall. Something was inside it, her entire body was ringing with that truth, her magic sparking in her palms with anxiety. “Something’s moving inside it, look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion’s shout wasn’t enough to stop her. Dany reached out her gloved hand and touched her fingertips to the icy surface. Her whole body went lighter than air, lightning seemed to sing in her veins, and somewhere, off in the distance, a familiar voice called to her:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The day shall come, Daenerys Targaryen…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Every muscle in her body seized up. She could not have pulled away even if she’d tried, and from inside the ice, a mass of something had begun to thrash and move. In an instance, Davos and Tyrion had taken hold of her, pulling with all their might to disconnect her hand. An echoing scream reverberated through the air, and a ghostly, blue-eyed face tried to breach the Wall’s surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—we’ve got you, come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise of her companions behind her seemed to turn back on. Dany pulled her hand away just as the face snapped its rotting teeth at her fingers. All three of them fell back into the snow. Davos and Tyrion were both breathing like they’d run all the way to Braavos and back. Dany’s muscles spasmed as if they had all cramped up and then released.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The face within the Wall was joined by others, all drifting along and rotting, their mouths open like they were screaming until time ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of the stories mentioned that,” Tyrion panted. He made to stand, then collapsed onto his butt again. “What were you </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, knowing who created the Wall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t… I was only…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fell silent as her body began to calm, the muscles relaxing, the jolt of fear in her heart falling quiet. And she couldn’t explain it, not even if she tried. The Wall had made her feel so many things, but most of all, for one shining, terrifying moment, she’d felt seen. A kinship to whatever was looking back at her through the blazing blue eyes still drifting past like they were following the current of a river beginning to freeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll make camp within sight of it,” Davos said once he’d caught his breath. “And you, Princess, stay away from it. Whatever they are, I think its best if you don’t try to join them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dany nodded and got to work on their tiny campfire, but her gaze lingered on the Wall, and moreso, on the terrified blue eyes fixated on her own.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Making her way across ice, walking slow, hunting Jon cause the world's dead da-dodadadodado doda -rocks out to Vanessa Carlton 5eva-</p><p>Leaving you there for now. Next update will be after I post another PQ update, so... IDK a few weeks probably?</p><p>Stay safe in the mean time, if you like the Sims 4 come slap me around on the YouTube channel my dumbass started for speed builds because I was bored in quarantine. Zavocado on there too o.o</p><p>Until next time, ciao!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dany IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another update, whoop whoop! Still Dany POV, but this is another long one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They followed the Wall across the sea, west and then northwest, and then sharply north. Every few days, they met a party of wights, with their blackened hands and glowing blue eyes. Her fire was their life. It seemed to vanquish the dead like nothing else could, but it was growing more and more exhausting to use it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once, her family had been renowned for their fire wielding on the battlefield. But Queen Lyanna’s flight across the narrow sea had changed that. With only her and her infant son, his fire magic had dwindled. A mother not of Targaryen descent could only teach the boy so much, and with their scope of the world altered, their home lost and a new one to build, the reason to use their magic had changed, too. Gone was the raging blasts and the controlled fire breaths and all the many things Dany read of in their oldest books. Their fire had been lessened, tamed by the need for survival over war.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d been raised to protect and heal with fire, not attack and defend. Her skills were impressive, if her mother was to be believed, but she could not hold her breath for so long. Not out here in the tundra, with the wild and the snow, as her body ached and shivered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More to the south,” Davos yelled, over the howling wind and snow. They’d come into sight of a great stone mountain, had lost their view of the Wall as it turned sharply north and vanished into the storm. “If we can find a cave, somewhere to defend from—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shouted in pain then, as one of the dead rushed from the swirling snow, and leapt at him. Dany unleashed another burst of flame and lit the corpse on fire. It gave an inhuman scream before withering to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within seconds, another wave of dead was upon them, going up in flames as Dany raised her ninth wall of fire. Her lungs burned as she held her breath, and Davos and Tyrion hacked and slashed until all but the wind had fallen silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany collapsed in the snow on all fours, heaving in air and wincing at the sharp cold that filled her lungs. Without a word, Davos scooped her up and hurried onward. Their sled had broken a week past, their supplies down to only what they could carry. Every breath made her head spin, but they were still not alone as Davos charged forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind them, Dany said the dots of blue following, and she sent as many blasts of fire over his shoulder as she could. It was never enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re gaining,” Tyrion roared, struggling through the deepening snow. “I can not keep—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stumbled and tripped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos faltered, too, setting her down to use her fire once more. He could not carry them both, but with the snow deepening, Tyrion could not keep going forever. She sent fire at every glowing blue spot she saw, as fast and strong as she could, but only another wall of fire did it. Gasping and shaking, Dany held firm, taking a huge breath to fuel her fire as she lit another wall around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Princess!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her wall of fire fell to ash, and when she turned, they were still not alone. But these visitors were decidedly less blue-eyed, their flesh and bones likely intact, their faces and bodies covered in scarves and fur. All three were built like bears. One hurried toward her, lifting her up as another did the same to Tyrion. The third took some of their supplies, and then they were all running, their rescuers gliding across the snow’s surface as if it were ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos was the last one into the dark crevasse in the mountainside. Behind them, a great boulder was shifted over the opening, then a dozen more around it to cover the cracks and holes. Some sort of black substance was poured on all of it, steaming and hissing as it met the cold rock. It seemed to glue it all together and keep the dead out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should not have come this way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A torch was passed around the perimeter of the cave, more crackling to life as it moved. Finally, it stopped on a slight woman, dressed all in furs. She removed her face scarves and furs, caked with frost and snow from being out in the storm to rescue them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Davos told her. He’d fallen to his knees beside Dany where she’d been put down. “Princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine.” Dany pushed her face scarf down her numb lips and chin. “How did you find us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We keep a watch,” the woman said. “When the dead walk and humanity fades, we must all be vigilant. And you, fire wielder, are not the first of your kind we’ve seen. I imagine you’ve come this way for the same reasons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany pushed herself to her feet. “My brothers made it this far?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman considered her, nodded to her companions, who turned into the darkness of the cave. Their torches flickered as little points of light as they disappeared deeper into the tunnel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have much to talk about, young Targaryen. Come. Let’s get warm and fed first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany helped Davos and Tyrion back to their feet, collected their pitiful belongings before following at a distance. Tyrion was both relieved and suspicious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re somewhere along Westeros’s northeastern shores,” he said softly. “But people have not lived here for centuries. The winter put an end to all the Westerosi civilizations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That we know of,” Dany countered. “Perhaps they moved to this area after our ancestors fled for Valyria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re alive at least, I will welcome that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After several minutes of winding their way up and through the gloomy tunnel, they arrived in a great stone hollow. They were inside the mountain, that much Dany was certain of, and here and there along the high ceiling, little windows had been either cut through or had naturally occurred to let in some air. Right now, as she passed beneath one, she realized each opening was covered with glass. Firelight flickered from the other side. Guards, perhaps, keeping watch from outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their rescuer noticed her gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They saw your fire walls,” she told Dany. “We’ve not seen such a thing before, but it was welcome all the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I wasn’t the first you’ve seen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that our people have seen, no,” their rescuer said. “It was eighty years past when a fire wielder such as yourself arrived at our shores. Back then, they say the sea was still a sea, not the ice we fish through now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uncle Aemon,” Dany whispered. “Was that his name? The fire wielder, Aemon Targaryen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d never come back, when he’d left just like Rhaegar had as a young man. Near a century had passed since then, and while Dany had heard the story a million times over, nobody knew what had become of him. Aemon had gone to seek out the truth, to do what so many before had failed. If he’d made it this far, perhaps he’d made it to the Wall; had left some sort of information in one of the many castles built along it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was a Targaryen,” their rescuer told her. “His given name is lost, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> name?” Tyrion was warmed up now, and as bluntly rude as was always possible for him. “That one should be much easier to find.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She considered him with her sharp, dark eyes. “I am Mother Mole, Tyrion Lannister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That shut him up, but Dany was just as alarmed. None of them had spoken their names, nor was there any contact between their civilizations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Ser Davos Seaworth, sailor and knighted, guard to our queen to be, Princess Daenerys Targaryen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother Mole only looked her over, as if she’d seen her years before, and was examining how much she’d grown and changed since she’d been a small child. Dany squirmed under her gaze. It reminded her of her mother, but of the stranger in her dreams, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come, eat. We will talk soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A feast hall was carved into the opposite wall of the great cave, full of those who lived in the mountain. They were all wearing the same gray and brown furs, all round and stocky, their skin ruddy and eyes dark. Every single person stopped to stare at them. Whispers spread out from them as if they were a great epicenter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look at her hair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s a man so small?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you see her fire lighting up the snow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany ignored them and followed Mother Mole’s lead, taking a serving of stew and hard bread gratefully and finding a table in the corner with her. Candles lit every crevice and corner, sat on every table, and even hung from iron chandeliers overhead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all ate quickly, glad for the warm meal that had at least some flavor. Anything was better than icy grass, roots, and melted snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother Mole joined them as the rest of the people began to depart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You cannot stay here,” she began. “Not forever, but for a few days to recover, yes. Your journey does not end here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where does it end?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother Mole gave the impression of knowing far more than she ought to, and Dany wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is your decision, Daenerys. And his when you see him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this the same he the red masked woman keeps mentioning? Have you seen her, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old woman considered her for a long moment, but Dany did not flinch away. As Davos and Tyrion both gave her confused looks, Dany ignored them and waited for Mother Mole to decide if she was worthy of the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quaithe reaches out to me from time to time, yes,” Mother Mole told her. “I have been far closer to her than you until recently. Tell me, when did you leave Valyria?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany hesitated to answer, but after a moment, decided it was a harmless enough question. Neither Tyrion nor Davos objected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three moons ago or so. It’s been more difficult to keep track with the storms hiding the stars and moon.” Dany pushed her bowl and mug aside. “Who is Quaithe? How can she walk in my dreams? I even… I swear I was awake, when we were on the Dothraki Sea and there she was amongst the grass. She seemed to melt like dew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quaithe is many things.” Mother Mole frowned. “For as long as I have lived, I have seen her. Sporadically, yes, but she lingers in my dreams some nights, gives warnings to my people of what is to come. So far, she has never failed to guide us truly. I imagine the same will be the case for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’d have to make sense first,” Dany muttered, frowning, too. “She speaks in nothing but riddles, the same ones over and over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Time will provide the answers,” Mother Mole said. “For me, she is usually forthright, but not always. Some things… some things cannot be stated, otherwise they would not occur as needed. I am not certain where she is or where her magic comes from. Perhaps she is descented from another Stark, just as my people have mingled with them since the Night King rose the Wall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stark</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos had tensed beside her, and she felt Tyrion’s hand drift to his blade.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am Mother Mole, protector of Skagos and my people,” was the old woman’s answer. “We do not bother with surnames like the Westerosi once did. Our people are an amalgamation of what was left after the Dragonking’s son failed. Free Folk, Skagosi, and yes, a few Northerners, too. When the Night King returned too soon, all the North was devoured by his rage. Those Starks that survived the war of that winter froze in their castles, all but the youngest, Rickon Stark, who came here when nowhere else was safe. He stayed with our people, grew to manhood and became one of us. That much is certain, buth very little else is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Night King is a Stark,” Dany argued, her jaw clenched. “He meddled with ice magic and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your evidence?” Mother Mole’s challenge was gentle, but firm. “Rickon Stark’s tomb is here with all the rest of our ancestors, and he was the last. He gave written accounts of many years before he left his home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Personal accounts can be unreliable,” Tyrion said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As can histories centuries old.” Mother Mole stood up. “I cannot say who the Night King is, where he came from, or if he’s always been among us. Perhaps he is a god walking upon our earth, warped and twisted beyond his original purpose. No one living knows. Perhaps Quaithe is the same. Perhaps all humans who meddle too dark and deep into magic are destined for such tragedy as a life without end. Your ancestor who came here before you arrived at our mountain seeking those very same answers, Daenerys. Whether or not he found them when he headed west, I cannot say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anyone else at the Wall? At any of those castles the Westerosi built along it when it first appeared?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that we know of,” Mother Mole said. “But the answers you need and the one you seek are there and beyond. That is all I know, Daenerys Targaryen, the rest is left up to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dany, Tyrion, and Davos spent four days with the Skagosi, learning more of their home and culture. They were given fresh and thicker furs, harvested from the bears that still lingered in the area, and plenty more food as well as a slightly more up to date map of the area where they were headed. Her dreams of Quaithe had stopped, like the hush before a storm, or so it felt to Dany. Every night before she slept, she was tense with anticipation of her visit, and every morning she woke more exhausted than before without her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She will visit when it is needed,” Mother Mole advised her, on the morning of their planned departure. The blizzard had finally let up around the great mountain, and all three of them had been given snowshoes such as the Skagosi used to walk atop the snow. “Remember what she has already told you, Daenerys, and you cannot stray wrongly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I not stray when I don’t understand what she means?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mother Mole chuckled. “It will make sense in time. Perhaps, if you think more on it now, parts already will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany nodded her thanks. They were led through the mountain and down, winding through the tunnels with their guides until they reached a new exit. The wild, frigid landscape of the north looked back at them, thankfully empty of wights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take these,” Mother Mole said, handing her a fur wrapped package. “Obsidian, found inside our mountain, forged into weapons against the dead. Why they work so well I could only guess, but they will kill them for true just as well as your flames. I believe we gave your uncle something similar all those years ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. For this, for saving us, for everything these past few days.” Dany passed the fur bundle to Davos and Tyrion. “On our way home, after we destroy him, I hope we will be welcomed here once more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older woman smiled sadly. “If you manage such a feat, I can't imagine any people left amongst the living that would turn you away. Good luck, Daenerys Targaryen. May spring follow where you go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody had ever wished her such a thing, but all the Skagosi around them called out the same. Their hope gave her strength as the cave’s great stone barrier shut behind them. Outside it was cold, the snow’s paleness reflecting off itself to lighten the way. Dany hurried to catch up with Davos and Tyrion, her snowshoes a wondrous miracle that kept her atop the heaps of snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great invention, these,” Tyrion was saying as she joined them. “We’ll have to make our own in Valyria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If we end this winter, we will not need them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s be practical instead of idealistic, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos grinned at that, and they turned toward the north and slightly to the west, using the pale moon in the sky as their guide. As they walked, he unwrapped the obsidian weapons they had been gifted. Five were inside, all gleaming and black, sharper than was necessary, their edges honed to an exquisite point. Dany took one of the smaller daggers, examining it closely. The grip was old bone wrapped in leather, but the obsidian seemed too fine and beautiful, as if it would break at first use, would last her no more than one stab of a wight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion tried out the shortsword, looking just as skeptical as Dany felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite fragile to the eye, aren’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Many say the same of my wife,” Davos said. He took one of the smaller daggers, too, and gave it a quick look. “Won’t stop her from handing my ass to me as needed, with a sword or words.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I miss Maria,” Dany said. She hooked the little dagger to her sword belt. “And Mother and Missandei.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I miss my brother and sister,” Tyrion added, though he seemed half forlorn at the mention of them. “If I have to join the missing family queue with the pair of you, then I can try to miss them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see them again.” Davos sighed, tucked the dagger into his belt, then the axe as well. “My boys will love to see these when we get back. Love a good story, them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And they would have more than enough to tell of when they returned to Valyria. Just knowing others lived still, that they had learned of new ways to survive inside their mountain and fishing underneath it and through the ice would bring hope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the Wall’s eerie glowing halo loomed before them once more, Dany only hoped they made it home with more hope than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>May spring follow where we go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They found no wights in the days after their departure from Skagos. Their guard was up still, a weapon always in hand as their netted snowshoes let them glide across the snowy moors in the Wall’s blue shadow. Somehow, this stretch of it felt different. A weighted presence seemed to linger in the air around the Wall, the original one on Westerosi soil. How it had expanded south and toward Braavos, she could only guess was a result of the spreading winter. Of the Night King’s magic growing to encase the entire world. Dany could not explain it, that sense of being watched, but both Tyrion and Davos felt it, too, the longer they stayed in its sights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ghosty wights still drifted through the ice, imprisoned in its depths, reflecting back to their eyes as if they were submerged in water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an oppressive sort of presence, however useful the light was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it’s just the wights seeing us,” Davos said one night as they made camp, his eyes on the Wall, “but it feels like its someone else. Something we cannot see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion nodded, walking along its length beside their fire, looking closely but not touching it. After Dany’s encounter, they’d not dared to touch the icy surface again. If Mother Mole’s tales were to be believed, many a man had dared to touch it and been driven mad or dragged inside to join the dead. Clouds of chilled mist drifted off it, rising up toward the stars overhead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dany watched, more faces drifted past, and threads of their bodies, too. Most looked like some form of soldier, in liquidy armor, a few with steel helms. She never saw the same face twice that she could recall. And perhaps there were so many that they flowed endlessly on a loop from this point and all around the Wall’s perimeter. Perhaps it took years for their undead eyes to ever see this spot again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Night King was born of ice magic, assuming those legends are true,” Tyrion told them. “If he made this, I see no reason he cannot have altered it to be more than simply a wall to keep us out of his lands. Mother Mole seemed to think as much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany turned her eyes onto the Wall again. Beneath its eerie surface, blue-eyed faces drifting along in their invisible current, mouths agape, faces scarred and stretched and screaming into an abyss of silence. Out here, they could not hear the dead, but Dany felt their pain with just a glimpse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They bunked down in their little camp, blissfully huddled together under a propped up blanket. A few snow flurries drifted down, but the storms they’d met crossing the frozen sea did not seem to rattle this place. Here at the Wall, the world was eerie, but calm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We’re almost to the center of his madness, perhaps that is why.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the morning, they ate as they walked, chewing on dried, tough meat strips the Skagosi had given them. They found their first human structure since they’d left Braavos behind just where they’d been directed. Black timber rose up alongside the Wall. What was left of an old, haphazardly built castle scattered around the Wall’s edge. Most of it had fallen in from the snows. Other areas looked as if the wood had been stripped from the sides of the little buildings and taken. A switchback stair climbed the Wall’s side, but most of it had crumbled. Even if they could have reached the lowest remaining step, they would not have made it far.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eastwatch, just where they told us,” Tyrion said as they examined the ruins and collapsed structures that dotted the area even fifty feet from the Wall’s base. “They built a number of castles after the war, during the False Spring. Trying to get over it, or just to see what was beyond, I imagine. Seventeen or eighteen castles in total if I remember correctly. Castle Black was the largest, near the center.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems foolish now, trying to get around it like they were, lost king and prince or not,” Davos said. “If they’d known then what was on the other side…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do we even know truly what awaits us on the other side?” Dany asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both men fell silent. Davos gave a shake of his head, scratching some of the icy snow from his beard. Tyrion took a seat on some fallen timber and pulled a map from his bag. He marked off their first castle on the far right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Another week perhaps to reach Castle Black,” he estimated, measuring the distances with his finger. “It’s said they tried to burrow into the ice there. We’ll see how far they got.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Light snow traced their steps after they’d left Eastwatch’s ruins behind. Every day was an uphill journey, though the Wall towered as ominous above as it had back in Braavos. They saw no other castles in the following days, not like the scattered ruins of Eastwatch along the edges of the frozen sea. Instead, they found traces of people long dead in the broken staircases that wound their way up along the side of the mass of ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’ll be Oakenshield,” Tyrion guessed as they paused to make camp for the night at their latest broken staircase sighting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even as they sat in the firelight and gazed up at the black marks that showed where a few stairs remained, several splintered pieces of timber fell down into the snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if you’re wrong and this is Castle Black and its buried beneath us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion gave her a dark look. “Do you fancy fashioning climbing utensils then? I will not pretend to brave such a feat, but if you’re bold enough, Princess…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany gave him a shove and glare. “If it comes down to that, I will, but with this snow… it’s been storming this far north for centuries now. Castle Black may be right under our feet and we would never know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll find a way,” Davos assured her, and while he offered no solutions, his quiet confidence was soothing. “Maybe fire magic can melt us a tunnel right through it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion snorted. “It may be as wide as it is tall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was an idea to try at least. Dany had considered it more than once in the last few nights of sleeping beside it. She would have to do so in bursts. Perhaps over the course of multiple days, depending on its size. Yet she worried about the idea, too. For the wights inside the Wall continued to float past, as rotting and horrifying as they’d been the first time they’d seen them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she had to resort to melting a tunnel through, would they die in the blasts or be released to claim them, too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They found Castle Black two days later, after hours more of uphill climbing over the mountains of snow that blanketed the land. Overhead, another broken wooden stair criss-crossed over the Wall’s face, and a single tower jutted up through the snow. Upon further inspection they found it was the very top of the tower’s roof, with no way in or down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buried,” Dany muttered, disappointment flooding her gut. She’d hoped to find something more here. Or any sign at all that her old Uncle Aemon had made it here all those years ago. They’d found no trace of him since Skagos. “How deep do you think it goes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, most towers are… well, towers,” Tyrion said, not bothering to mince words. “If this is the top, then the rest of the castle is fifty to one hundred feet down?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although they had only been traveling for a few hours that day, they decided to stop at Castle Black for the night. Of all the castles that people had built all the Wall’s southron face, Castle Black was their best hope at more information or a way through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion and Davos set up their camp between the Wall and the tower roof, cooking a better meal than they’d had in recent days. Dany explored the snow drifts around the area. She found only splinters of wood from the stairs still clinging to life high above. No sights of people or other buildings. Not even signs of any wights that had been absent since Skagos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, she took a knee on the southron side of the tower, watched the firelight of their camp flickering behind it as her companions ate. Her fire might be too dangerous to melt through the Wall, but perhaps, if she did it right, was careful, she could melt her way down to the buildings that might still exist beneath them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany removed her gloves, pressed her hands against the fresh, cold powder, and inhaled. At once her fire lit her palms, set the snow around them sizzling as it melted and evaporated into misty air. She was precise as she melted it, slowly going, letting it steam and then the water to refreeze as ice. After a few minutes' work, she’d made a considerable hole, slowly angling it downward and toward the tower’s side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos had come to offer her some food, but set it down when he saw what she was doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might be faster to just dig with our hands,” he said. “Here, you eat. I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My fire is—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Far more important than my old hands,” Davos reminded her. “You exhaust that, and we’re as dead as those people in the Wall. If not worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let him take over, digging a dip beside the tower as she ate, Tyrion coming over to join him in the endeavor. Davos and Tyrion sat back when she was finished, letting her warm the snow so that it melted just enough to then refreeze as ice. They’d dug a considerable slope angled down toward the tower, had exposed the stone side, though no windows like she’d hoped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would have been a miracle,” Davos said as they began to dig out to the left side of their hole, Dany standing carefully inside of it and melting as they went. “Assuming the damn thing has windows. Who’d want them this far north in the middle of this winter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If they used ravens like we do, they’d likely need at least a few.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dug and dug, working slowly to the left around the curve of the tower. Dany was ready to give up, when she spotted the first sign of what might be a window. At ankle height, the lining of the stones had changed, shifting vertical now, instead of horizontal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we found one,” she called up to them, but it was much deeper than she’d wished. “Just the top of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos helped pull her back out so they could have a breather. Beside them, her icy melted walls of their sizeable hole gleamed in the eerie blue light of the Wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s wide enough,” Dany said, holding her hands up to show them an approximation of the window’s width. “In the morning, we can keep working. Unblock it and see if there’s any hope of getting inside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems unlikely it will not be filled with snow, too,” Tyrion said. He’d been complaining for the better part of the last hour that they were wasting their time when they could be sleeping instead. “The pressure alone would probably destroy half of these buildings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll know once we’re inside,” Davos said and he pulled his furs over his face and settled in for sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany did the same, grinning at Tyrion’s pessimistic grumbling. He curled up at her back, Davos behind him, the three of them huddled for warmth amongst their furs and the dwindling campfire. She watched the flames, the wind making them stutter, the golden light fighting as much as it could against the eerie blue of the Wall. When she fell asleep, she slipped right into a dream—the last time she’d seen Quaithe in the shadow of that red castle high atop its hill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pass beneath the shadow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany ignored her at first, taking in her surroundings as they sharpened through the haze of her dream. Red stone buildings lined the alleys and cobbled streets. So many people might have fit inside this city, yet it was as barren as their trip across the ice. As Quaithe floated around her, watchful behind her red mask, Dany considered all the stranger had told her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In some ways, Mother Mole had been right. Quaithe’s words were bizarre at first, but they’d been true enough through her journey so far.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I went south before turning north,,” Dany said. “And we went east back past my home to find our way here. But I don’t know who he is, and this shadow—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“To touch the light</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I</span>
  <em>
    <span> know</span>
  </em>
  <span> the words, but they’re meaningless before they happen,” Dany snapped. “Why can't you speak plainly, Quaithe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The use of her name did not seem to surprise her. Quaithe simply stared at her for a long moment, then vanished like smoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Dany was still in the empty red city as a light snow began to fall, and behind her, from the castle high above, someone was screaming. A woman, she was certain, in a pain she’d never yet known.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany stared up at it, then when it did not fade, began to wind her way up the cobblestone street toward its massive gates. She saw nobody as the woman’s screams ebbed and flowed. The city seemed abandoned by all but the one high above. The gate squealed open for her, and the screams fell silent. A carriage was in the courtyard, two horses with it, both as silvery as the mare she’d left behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could go to touch them, to see if they were truly real, someone moved out from in front of them and froze at the sight of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t be here. Mother’s evacuated the city,” the dark-haired girl said, and she scowled and then squinted at her. “Wait, you—are you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>High above, the shrill cry of a newborn rang out across the deserted city. The girl whipped around to gaze upward, and Dany turned, too, tilting her head back, listening...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos shook her awake. Snow fell off her furs as Dany sat up, and overhead it drifted downward in lazy spirals. She was back to her life, Davos and Tyrion and their frozen world at the Wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Best we get back to it, before all our work is buried again,” he said. He gave her a piece of warmed black bread, then went back to the hollow they’d dug the night before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany chewed it slowly, disappointment thick in her gut. Quaithe had been no more helpful than any of the times before, but that city had been important somehow. Just thinking of the sights of it made something echo in her very bones. She’d never been there before, but it felt as familiar as her mother’s smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dug deeper than before, Dany working furiously to stave off the questions her dreams had filled her with. She’d done part of what Quaithe had foretold, without even realizing it, and perhaps the rest was more clear now. Maybe the he she spoke of was the Night King, going back to the depths of his grave for good. And the shadow she must pass beneath…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany paused in her growing hole, gazing up at the great Wall. What other shadow was there upon the world if not this one?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But how does he go back before I pass beneath it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos slid down to join her, admiring their work. They’d expanded their hole, dug deeper to reveal the shuttered window. Solid wood blocked it up from the outside, though she could not imagine it would be enough to protect the inside entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably shuttered them as the snow deepened,” Davos said, fighting with the latches that were frozen solid. “It’d be easy enough to walk right up to this, would not it, board it shut.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And abandon it.” Dany swept his hands aside and pressed her palm to the ice freezing it shut. She took a deep breath and let that fuel her fire enough to melt the ice. “Tyrion, are you coming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They heard him grumbling and complaining from out of sight, but a moment later he was sliding down the icy slope to join them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If a blizzard buries us down there, I will never forgive either of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just think of the knowledge that might be inside, Tyrion,” Dany said as they used their steel daggers to pry the wooden shutters open. “These castles rose up right after the war, when the Wall was discovered in its infancy, right? They spent an entire generation building them and gathering who knows what sort of information.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or who knows how many wights buried inside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That gave Davos pause, but Dany did not falter. She pried the left shutter from the tower’s side, and the right cracked free, too. A small hollow greeted them, a little heap of snow on the window’s ledge, and then another layer of shutters, this time from the inside. Davos cursed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t take any risks, did they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he kicked off one of his snowshoes, used Dany’s shoulder for balance, and kicked at the inside shutters until they broke open. Tyrion peered inside carefully as Dany helped Davos back into his snowshoe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the creepy blue glow doesn’t continue in here,” he said, pulling his head back out. “Black as pitch inside.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go first then,” Dany said, and before either of them could stop her, she’d slid her legs through the window, and sat on the ledge facing inside. When she lit a fire in her palm, a small room appeared, filled with cages and old buckets and a layer of bird shit and dark feathers. A bed was inside, half under snow that had poured inside from the window opposite of theirs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No wights or bodies,” Dany said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took her snowshoes off carefully, then pushed off the ledge to drop down to the floor. It wasn’t a far drop by any means, but the stones were icy and slick. Dany lit her fire once more, examining the room as Davos and Tyrion jumped down behind her. The room wasn’t much to look at, but there were some old candles still in their holders on the walls. Davos broke one free. Thin crisps of ice fell off it and onto the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany lit it for him with a quick press of her fingertips, and though it took a few moments to catch, it did. They grabbed half a dozen more and lit a second for Tyrion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like we’re in the maester’s tower,” Tyrion said as he examined the frozen cages. “The bed’s odd for a rookery though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might have had to use it for several things. If other parts were buried, or collapsed, they’d run out of space for all their needs.” Davos eased the room’s only door open and peered out into the dark. “Ready for a trip underground?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany led the way once more, her flaming hand held before her as they wound their way down the tight, steep spiral staircase. Tyrion continued to complain, though this time it was about Davos’s words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We aren’t technically underground, just under the snow on the ground,” he said as the staircase ended at another small room. “Now, if we find a cellar of wine…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany rolled her eyes. “We aren’t taking that with us. We have a hard enough time just carrying ourselves without our bags being stuffed full of wine bottles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each room they found was more of the same as the first two. Old, ice-crusted furniture, no signs of life, whether from human bones or wights, and no library nor books either. They found several rooms that had been filled with snow, and what might have been a feast hall with its great wooden oak doors split in half as if it was a stomach that had burst open. Snow and ice had poured in from the room’s guts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Roof probably collapsed,” Davos said as they stared at it. “We’re a good fifty or sixty feet down from where we were. That’s a lot of weight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And how likely is the roof above us to keep holding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all glanced up at it uneasily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Best to be quick and not find out how much longer it will hold.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They moved on, marking their turns with fire, leaving black marks on the stone, but the deeper they went, the less there was. More and more rooms were collapsed. Snow poured out into the halls and blocked some off entirely. Just when they were discussing turning back, they found one that wasn’t too badly damaged. One door was propped open, and to Dany it seemed intentional. A book had been set on its edge to hold it open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t look recent,” Dany said as she knelt down. “The book’s frozen solid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But how it could have fallen in such a spot and in such a position seemed too unlikely to not be caused by a person. She tried to move it but it was frozen fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As if someone dumped water all over it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In this part of the castle, there were no signs of the snow from above. They were deep now, to the point where the space was warmer than the surface. Dany stood and pushed the door aside, and delight filled her at the sight before her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Castle Black’s library was not much to look at, if truth be told, but it was a wondrous haven after so many months outside with nothing. Two bookshelves lined one wall, rows and rows stacked one on top of the other from floor to ceiling. Tyrion grinned when he saw them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s hope they didn’t just pack this full of the basics.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went right to work examining the books’ spines and pulling a few out to skim. Davos went to explore the rest of the room, the bordered up window, and the tables along the far wall. Dany went to the little desk nearest the door. Scraps of parchment were scattered across it, a few that looked to be torn pages from books, but the one on top caught her eye, weighted down by a fist-sized stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To those that come after me,” Dany read aloud from the top. She lifted the stone from its middle and gasped. “Aemon wrote this!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That brought Davos back over to her side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The way north is through the Nightfort,” Davos read over her shoulder. “Never heard of such a place. Tyrion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was half distracted with a book in his arms, eyes frantically skimming the pages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone’s torn pages from this one,” he muttered, giving Aemon’s note little more than a glance. “It’s a diary of some sort, on all that was discovered during the False Spring. The Castle Black maester kept it, all sorts of notes and information of what they did day to day. And the entry that started on this page, says they found a new castle, one they had not built, and right before he names it, the page ends and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aemon found it,” Dany said. She pushed his book down from his nose and scooped up the other pages from the desk. “He tore it out, so it would be easier for whoever came next.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose the castle was still easy to access eighty years ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every page that Aemon had torn from the library’s books was all about the same thing. The Nightfort. The oldest castle at the Wall it seemed, discovered in the aftermath of the first storm that had swept through the False Spring. Before then, it seemed, the Wall had just been a wall. Their own castles had covered its southern length, but nothing else until that storm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It just appeared overnight,” Dany said, flipping through the torn out pages. “He’s made notes and everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion read them all through twice. “We’ve no record of a castle by that name, not even in the old books Queen Lyanna brought from Westeros long ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe the news never reached them in the south,” Davos said. He took a look at all of the information, too. “Doesn’t mention much about where it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“West,” Dany said, pointing out the sentence on the page she had. “West of Castle Black, so that’s a start.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can not just keep heading west in the hopes of finding it.” Tyrion frowned as he read that page again. “With how damaged these castles are we can barely tell them apart or even notice we’ve reached one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one is different.” Dany refused to blush at their unconvinced expressions. “It has to be if the Night King or his Wall made it. If it leads us north through the Wall, it’ll be part of the Wall, too. Ice magic made both, I’m certain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But her certainties were not enough to convince either man. They sat in the library and debated for a long while. If the Nightfort was still in existence, if Aemon had been guessing or had gone west and north to prove it, then come back to leave his message. So far, there’d been no other signs of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was guessing, Daenerys,” Tyrion insisted. “And, yes, it’s our only lead, but if we head further west and find nothing—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’ll be halfway through our year, and it will be time to turn back,” Dany said. She swallowed, some her doubts creeping in. “I will not return home without trying. And if there’s nothing left and we cannot find it in the next two moons, then we’ll go home. Just as I promised Mother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos had been the most quiet of the three, but he nodded at her words. “We came here to try to find him, so we head west and see what is there for us all these years later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion seemed willing to argue more, but a noise outside in the hall stopped him. They all sat there, listening, their breaths fogging up the air around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Best we get moving,” Davos muttered, standing and peering out into the dark hall. “Buried, old castle like this, might come down at any time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were quick to pack up their findings, all of Aemon’s pages and notes tucked carefully into her bag. Dany led the way, her breath misting before her, her ears straining for other sounds. It might have been snow shifting, a wooden beam breaking, even an icicle falling, but her gut said otherwise. At once point, this castle had housed enough people to fill it. And at least one visitor had made it inside in the centuries since. Three more had just today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quick and quiet, they followed the burns they’d left on the walls, winding their way back up through the castle. Dany’s heart beat like a war drum, Tyrion close to her back, Davos a step behind him. All was dark except her little fist of fire and their swords glinting in their candlelight. They paused at the base of the tower they’d entered from, taking a few breaths before the climb to the top.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be good to be back with the eerie blue glow again,” Tyrion said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And his words brought that sound again, closer, from somewhere behind them. Dany did not hesitate to move. She began to climb at once, adrenaline and terror clawing through her muscles. Perhaps it was nothing. Just the old castle shifting under the snow’s weight. Or perhaps…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos had hoisted Tyrion into his arms to hurry after her. Their friend complained, and that brought the noise again. A few times in a row, the sounds as if someone or something was dragging itself closer, scraping along the ground like a knife carving into ice. They raced up the steep, curving stairs, Dany’s chest ached with every step, her fire flickering on the stones that were already icing up from her melting them on the way down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind them now, there was no mistaking the sounds. Dozens of feet, snarling, broken voices like a pond of ice fracturing. She’d just reached the door when Davos gave a shout behind her. Tyrion dropped from his arms, his axe and an obsidian dagger in hand. At least one wight had caught up to them upon the narrow stair. Davos twisted away, and she saw the flash of the obsidian by the light of her fire, right before it plunged into the wight’s nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It did not disintegrate to ash like it did under her fire bursts, but frozen. Every limb went stiff, its decaying jaw snapping shut. For a moment, they stood there, the noises from below creeping closer, and then the wight Davos had stabbed burst into flames, its bright blue eyes erupting with fire, its jaw falling open to do the same. It tumbled back down the stairs, flaming and writhing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry,” Dany said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed through the door, Tyrion and Davos rushing inside, then snapped it shut and locked it. Davos shoved a bunch of snow around the bottom and the lock, and Dany melted it just enough so that it steamed and hardened to ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snow had begun to drift in through their window. Davos hoisted Tyrion up through it, then climbed out himself. He reached down for her last, taking both her hands and hauling her back out in the snow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bury it,” Tyrion shouted, and a moment later, Dany understood why.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Down below, the weight of the wights snarling and clawing, had burst through the door. She could not see down there anymore, but their blue eyes glowed in the dark, so many she could not count. They flooded the room, all turned to stare up at them, fighting with all of their strength to try to reach them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Davos and Tyrion began to shove the snow back in front of the window, Dany rained fire on the few who managed to climb up and over the rest. They pushed and moved the snow, so much faster than their meticulous digging from earlier. But it did no good. The wights kept coming, her fire destroying them, but melting the snow too fast to bury or form an ice barrier to give them more time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany moved closer as her friends frantically shoved the snow back toward the window. She took a long, deep breath, raised her hands toward the tower’s roof, and let out a wave of fire that sliced right through it. The stone cracked at once, the ice shattering and exploding outward. As the roof caved in, more wights poured out. Dany held her fire for as long as she could, the tower crumbling in on itself, her lungs screaming for more air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last she saw was Davos stabbing one of the escaped wights in the chest as it fell upon Tyrion in the dark.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Only a few chapters away from them finally meeting!!! Although, Dany meets a few special someones at the end of the next one o.o I am getting excited and nervous because you all get to see them finally meet, buuuut I have not written any more of this since I started it for NaNoWriMo in November and I am running out of chapters to post lmao</p>
<p>As usual, there will be a PQ update next, and then another for this!</p>
<p>Stay safe until next time, and if you have the chance to get vaccinated, PLEASE DO!!! Cheers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dany V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back, friiiiiends! Another Dany chapter has arrived, and we are finally at her destination -train breaks hiss-</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Dany woke, it was not to where they’d been before. The blak marks of the stairs that rose high upon the Wall at Castle Black were gone. They were still beside it, still within its glowing blue light, but all signs of Castle Black were no more. She could not say how long she’d been unconscious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside her, Tyrion was asleep, a few cuts upon his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve had us worried,” Davos’s voice said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was seated a few paces behind her when Dany turned around, stoking the little fire that he must have set on his own. He offered her a wedge of black bread that he’d been softening and toasting over the fire. Dany took it and ate it quickly, coming to join him on wobbly legs beside the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos pushed more food on her, and then a half-frozen mug of water. Dany warmed it with her hands, grimacing as her head throbbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we learned your fire is useless against the Wall,” Davos said. He watched her eat for a moment, before continuing. “The tower collapsed on most of them, swallowed up a bunch of the fire, likely burned through half of what was down there. But when you passed out, when you breathed out… It was like a wave out in the middle of the sea during a huge storm. Seemed to engulf the whole place, Princess. Made a terrible, icy mess for us to climb out of, killed the wights that managed to get out, and it hit the Wall, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And it did nothing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos nodded. “Not even a scar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was not as disappointed as she might have been a few weeks ago. Thanks to Aemon’s old notes, they had another way north. The Nightfort lay ahead of them now. All they needed to do was find it and pass through it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as she ate and Tyrion woke to replace Davos in their watch, the reality of what had happened nagged at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d unleashed her very best fire magic. By the sounds of it, her passing out had made it even more powerful than when she was consciously controlling it. And it had not been enough to even touch the Night King’s ice magic. As Tyrion ate and talked about the day and a half that she’d missed, Dany gazed up at the Wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Is that his best? Or his worst?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if it was either, it did not bode well for if she managed to get on the other side. If that was his worst magic, and her fire could not even damage it, then he would destroy her in an instant. But if it was his best, her own skills might not be enough to combat him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned her eyes to Tyrion and to Davos sleeping just behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was she leading them both to a fate like the wights? How could they not prove to be liabilities when she came face to face with the Night King?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she could not send them home either. They would never make it back to Valyria without her fire. Besides, neither man would leave her at this stage, and even if she snuck west on her own, Dany was certain they would follow her. Guilt crept into her stomach once more, but a newer, darker sort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We passed what might have been Queensgate this morning,” Tyrion was saying. “There was even less of that one left than the others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How many more are there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eight, not including this fabled Nightfort.” He set his bowl down, scratched at one of the cuts on his cheek. “Even if we reach it, Daenerys, and yes, pass through to the northern side, can we even come close to defeating him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I don’t know,” Dany admitted, and it cost her something to say it aloud. “We die either way, whether we continue on and fail, or return home to wait for Valyria to fall, too. If those are my options, my choice is clear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed in a way that told Dany she’d said exactly what he assumed she would.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I had rather die in my own bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was certain she was well enough to stay awake, Tyrion huddled down with Davos once more to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany cleaned up their utensils and paced beside the Wall. It’s eerie blue glow, instead of dissipating, seemed to have grown stronger since Castle Black. She watched the rotting faces drift past, encased in its frozen guts. Soldiers and men, a few women, but almost no children. She watched and watched, saw only one child, an older one by the size, perhaps not far off her own sixteen years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had had the suspicion for a while now that these people had been those that had worked the castles the Westerosi had built along the southern side of the Wall. That as the days and years passed, as the False Spring faded back into the winter awaiting them, more and more people had touched it. Some intentionally, some as a joke, some on accident perhaps, and they’d been pulled in and left to drown, like they’d found the undertow in a river and not been strong enough to break free of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But where did that leave the dozens of wights they’d encountered in Castle Black’s buried depths? Were those people who had come after the first or simply those that had been wise enough to not touch the Wall themselves?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had too many questions and so few answers. The farther they traveled, the more full her head seemed to become. Why then, if the Wall had been manned, with castles built all along its southern face, and a false spring warming the earth around them, had Queen Lyanna fled to Valyria? Prince Aegon had been just a babe when they’d left to cross the sea, leaving all those Westerosi behind at the Wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why would she do that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany paced and paced, admiring the ice but not touching it, the blue light dancing in the air around her. Strands of it seemed to be taking on a new form. Still untouchable, but like  ribbons in the air. She had paused to watch them ungulate when movement caught her eye. Expecting Davos or Tyrion, she was startled to be greeted by Quaithe’s red mask, and the icy blueness of a wispy girl. It took her a moment to recognize her from the red castle’s courtyard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s the one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe did not answer her companion, but just knowing that both could see her was alarming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re here to offer more riddles—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He is close now,” Quaithe said, “and the way closer still. Remember that ice burns, Daenerys Targaryen, and fire can be just as cold.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both began to fade, and Dany rushed toward them, her steps slow in the snow that separated them, she was almost upon them when they vanished. Her foot caught on something buried and sent her stumbling until she fell face first into the snow. Beneath her sudden weight, something groaned, creaked, shifted. In a blink, the ground was falling from under her, sinking down below the height of the snow to either side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany screamed as the snow gave way. It seemed to vanish beneath her, a great well opening up to swallow her into the dark. But even as she screamed, she had stopped falling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Princess? Princess!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany rested on her hands and knees, gazing down through the thick sheet of ice supporting her. For a moment, as the bluish glow of the Wall flickered high above, she could make out her own face in the reflection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Dany called up to them, and a second later, they were both peering down at her a dozen feet below. “The snow bank collapsed and this…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tapped a finger to the glassy ice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we found the Nightfort.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took ages for them to help her out of the ditch. The walls of snow were too high up for her to jump and reach them, and too unstable for either of them to hang down to grab her hand. They were back to digging another slope until Davos could take her hand and help pull her up to the surface. Together, they sat at the edge and looked down on her discovery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Nightfort or not, it’s frozen solid,” Tyrion remarked. “And thank the gods it is. I have no interest in falling down some old well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos was less convinced of his argument. “Princess? Did you see her again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany nodded. “And a girl. Dark-haired, small. They both could see me, but it was like… like they’d been turned to mist or something. I ran to try to reach them and right where they stood was where this entrance was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Tyrion’s noise of disbelief, Dany scowled. “She’s not led us wrong so far, and that ice… it’s not normal, how it’s formed. You can almost feel the magic rising from it with the cold.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos sighed, glanced at both of their faces, then back to the slope they’d already dug. “More digging it is then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this time around, it did not take a full day. They dug their sloped row back and down a bit more, just enough to find the glassy ice’s edge. Dany knelt down next to it, took her glove off, and even as Davos and Tyrion made noises of protest, she pressed her flaming hand to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At once, a great crack splintered its face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand steamed, then burned and ached. Dany yanked it back, wincing, but the magic was already undone. As they watched, the ice fractured, divided, then seemed to sink right down into the snow. A great rushing sound filled the air, a howling winter burst from the well, bringing ice and snow and a bitter cold that stole her breath. They all were pushed off their feet and back into the snow, at the wind’s mercy as it shrieked its ghastly bellows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to touch—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence fell. The wind vanished, the shrieks stopped. The cold’s deathly grip faded until the world that had felt so frozen before was familiar and almost warm. Dany had to rub her eyes to get the snow and ice from her eyelashes, but when she did see what was before her, her mouth fell open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A great ice castle had formed, melded right into the Wall. Every inch glowed that same eerie blue, its handful of towers like sharp icy spires trying to pierce the endless night above. Tyrion swore at the sight. Davos blinked a few times, stunned. All the snow that had buried the well and the space around it had been blown back until an icy walkway had formed between the castle’s frozen gate and the well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think he’s inside?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany shook her head, though how she could be so certain even she did not understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just the entrance, I think.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they walked over to the gate anyway. The inside was just as the Wall was, flooded with an endless river of the dead, drifting past them. As disappointed as she was to see no logical way inside without disrupting them, Dany was glad to at least see those in the Wall filing into the castle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>More space to exist, so they are not so on top of one another.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon she would free them all from this horrid existence. Then return home to her mother and a world transformed as spring spread from shore to shore. She had to believe it; had to make her dreams real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s try the well,” Dany said, and then turned their backs on the living dead to find a way down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not easy to see down the well, but after a few minutes of examination, Tyrion pointed out what turned out to be a set of ice stairs leading down into the dark. They looked them over uneasily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Slip and break our necks on those,” Davos said. “It’s a huge risk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This entire trip is,” Dany reminded him. She had to press her face to the ground to see the stairs. They were of the same glassy ice that had covered the well before. So neatly formed and beautiful, they were near invisible to the eye. “I’ll go first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daenerys—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she did not falter at their worries. She was here for one reason and that was to find a way north to destroy the Night King. A glassy ice staircase would not cause her to turn back. They’d come too far for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first step took her weight with ease. It did not crack or shift, and even under her boot, it felt firm as the volcanic rock on the beaches in Valyria. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If this is his only way in and out of the north, then surely he designed it to look more dangerous than it is.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that seemed to be true. After seven stairs, they were all steady and gripped her boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not slippery,” she said, and Davos and Tyrion began to follow her. “Here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany lit a fire in her palm, then gasped at the sight of her hand. It was an angry red, so numbed from the cold she’d not realized that she’d been burned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos had reached her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” She continued down the steps holding her fire before her. “How far down do you think this goes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Far enough so that we can pass under the Wall,” Tyrion said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wound their way down the spiraling ice stairs, round and round, until the darkness had swallowed them whole. High above, the Wall’s blue glow had vanished. Their only light that remained was the fire in her palm. She counted as they descended, one hundred, two hundred, on and on, until her legs ached and she grew bored with keeping track. Just as she was considering stopping to rest. Her foot landed on something that sounded like stone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is it,” she said, and when she stepped forward again, it was to find level ground beneath her, and a stone floor under her boots. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos and Tyrion seemed relieved to reach the bottom, but there was nothing but darkness to greet them. They sat down to rest, listening but everything was silent besides their own breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany examined the walls while her friends had a quick snack. They were stone like the floor. Tree roots sprouted from between some of the stones, winding their way through to the stones under her feet. Every root was palest white, near as white as the snow they’d left high above.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never seen a dead tree turn white,” Tyrion said as he joined her. “Although, the ghost grass at the Dothraki Sea was a surprise, too. This may just be more of the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Dany touched one of the roots with her bare hand, expecting it to be brittle, dead, cold. “It’s warm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At these temperatures, I hardly think—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany took his hand, removed his glove, and made him touch it, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried some of the other roots, and it was all the same. They were firm, warm, living. Flabbergasted, they did the only thing they could think of: taking a small cutting from one to bring home. As soon as Tyrion’s knife sliced through the bark, the roots all flinched and shifted. From the darkness behind them, a great, booming voice groaned in displeasure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion tucked the root cutting into his bag, face riddled with guilt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not a talking, living tree?” he muttered. “We’ve had everything else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos drew his sword, and Dany led the way into the dark with her fire palm. They found a crevasse in the stone wall, just big enough for them to slip through sideways. Small roots tickled their faces as they passed through the break in the stone. At once, a great warmth filled the air. Gushes of steam rose up to half-blind her, and under her feet the floor had turned to earth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face grew hotter the farther they walked. The tunnel twisted to the left and then to the right, and came to a stop in front of a great face carved into the white bark of the tree. She could not see any leaves, nor the full trunk. It was half buried in the wall of earth encasing it, but at the light from her fire, its great red eyes opened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you feed me your life?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany stared in amazement as the tree’s great mouth spoke. It did not seem threatening, nor able to move, but the face gazed at them imploringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we’d all rather keep our lives,” Tyrion told the door. “But we would like to pass through to the northern side of the Wall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door did not budge. “I cannot open until I am fed,” it told them. “The way north requires truth’s blood and no other’s.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany, Davos, and Tyrion exchanged an uneasy look. Blood was simple enough to give, but how much was needed? And if blood was not enough, would it try to devour them, too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could not quite imagine a tree eating a person, but at this point, Dany wasn’t willing to rule it out as a possibility.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much do you need?” Davos asked, and he was already removing his glove and dagger. “I still need the majority of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A taste is all to open the door.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany grabbed his forearm before he could cut his palm. “Davos, we don’t know if—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We must go forward, remember? You most of all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he sliced a small cut onto his palm and pressed the line of blood to the door’s lips. For a moment, it stood out vivid and red against the white bark, then absorbed into it. The door groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Truth’s blood is required,” it said, and if it could have spit the blood back out, Dany was certain it would have. “Do you carry truth’s blood?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany helped Davos cover his cut as Tyrion talked to the tree. She could hear it all as she cleaned his hand, from the riddling circles the tree door talked through, to the endless persistence on truth’s blood being the one required for passage. Davos seemed fine as he pulled his glove back on and sheathed his dagger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It insists on truth’s blood,” Tyrion said as he came over to join them. “All I got out of my questions was that it’s the ancient blood, which could mean any number of things. Stark blood, perhaps. Or something older. Or maybe just one who wields magic since that’s as ancient as anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can try,” Dany said, and when Tyrion did not look convinced, she shrugged. “Davos is just fine, see? It can’t hurt if we all try. Maybe one of us will be the right blood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion agreed to that, but insisted on trying first. Like with Davos, the door was displeased and refused to open, insisting on truth’s blood, if they wished to seek the north. Dany ungloved her unburned hand, made a small cut, and even before she’d pressed it to the white bark, she knew it was the right blood. The tree’s nostrils flared, it almost seemed to shift, although it could not move in the ways she could. With a sigh, it let her blood smear over its lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Follow the dead,” the door said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it yawned and yawned, its mouth opening wide enough that even Davos could walk through comfortably. They hurried into the dark of its throat, and within minutes had left the door behind and were walking out into the cold, frozen tundra north of the Wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Days passed as they headed north. The weather was cold, far colder than it had been beneath the Nightfort, but to Dany it felt strangely warm after the storms they’d encountered before. She knew her destination although not the road to take, but the door had not been wrong. Following the dead had been its only guidance, and so they were. Everywhere they looked the dead walked upon the snow-filled landscape. And they were not as those had been south of the Wall. They were like the faces they’d seen inside of it. Wispy, like smoke clouding the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they’d seen the first one two days before, they’d all drawn their swords in alarm. But not even Dany’s fire could touch them. Every single one was the same. Blue-eyed vapor sloughing along, ambling in whatever direction the wind led it. If the dead noticed them, they showed no interest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Four days on, the blue glow of the Wall that they’d left behind appeared on the horizon to the east.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have we curved to the east?” Tyrion asked. They’d stopped for a quick sleep, and to discuss the distant light they could see. “We’ve followed the dead, just as it said, although why we’re trusting a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tree</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It could be something else,” Dany reminded him. “He made the Wall and it gives off that same light. Why wouldn’t his other creations do the same?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Get some sleep,” Davos told them. “We’ll see what’s to be seen after some rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it did feel good to rest and lay down. They’d been walking for months now, with few days of rest, and dwindling food. She was not as hungry as she’d been since they’d passed through the Wall, but the cold could do that to people. Together, they huddle up for a quick sleep, Davos still awake and alert just in case the dead around them proved to not be as docile as they appeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slept and dreamt of home, of her mother’s warm smile and coming back to find that Missandei towered over her. Tyrion woke her for the final watch, and then they were moving again, chewing their last dredges of food, and trying to ignore how quick they would starve once it was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ground sloped uphill, crowned in the bright blueness of the glow. At the top, they paused, huffing and puffing from the steep walk, and gazed down upon a sight Dany had never thought to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A great valley spread out below them. Frozen though it was, life scattered across the landscape. White trees were all over, some barren and shriveled, others robust and blooming with scarlet leaves. Great faces of blood were carved into each one. Behind them all rose a towering castle of glittering ice and rock and the largest tree Dany had ever seen. It must have been half the Wall’s height at least, its bark white and cracked with red, its canopy blood red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is it,” Dany said. “It has to be where he lives, the Night King’s castle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All around them, the dead drifted down into the valley, adding slowly to the bluish light that bloomed across the landscape. Dany watched the ghost of a young boy float past, his skin pale as ice, his eyes like blue frost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose we should have planned an attack for the reality of reaching this stage,” Tyrion said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of moving forward, they’d all stopped and sat down at the top of the valley, gazing down at the eerie sight in a terrified sort of wonder. Dany did not quite know what to do with herself. She’d made it. Where perhaps nobody else had ever gone while living, and yet, these last moments, before their fate was settled with death himself, was unnerving. And calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I kill him and the world is whole again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that final step was daunting. The idea of failing, of watching Davos and Tyrion potentially die to defend her, to give her this chance, was unbearable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll have to find a way inside.” Dany watched more of the dead drift past as unconcerned with them as they’d been in recent days. “I suppose we could follow them, see if they go into the castle and enter there with them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surely, he knows we’re here.” Davos offered her his hands to hoist her back to her feet. “Passing through the Wall would not have gone unnoticed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany nodded even as her heart felt as if it were shaking inside her chest. She could not imagine they had surprise on their side, and perhaps not the magical abilities to compete with the feats of ice magic they’d seen erected all over the north. Nobody she knew had ever managed such things with fire. The very idea of it—of sustaining something like the Wall for centuries—was unthinkable. And the distances it crossed, too, were unimaginable. Just warming Valyria’s diminished peninsula was a daunting, exhausting task.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guard up then,” Dany said, and they followed the dead down the slope into the valley.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They passed through the smaller trees that marked the land. Some were so tiny she had not even noticed them from high above, just little pale sprouts poking through the snow and ice. Others were twisted and clearly dead or dying. It seemed so odd to find life here. That something living and warm and vibrant could thrive even here in the heart of winter itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They feed on blood though, so perhaps…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes fell once more on the dead drifting along toward the castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like they’re going through a gate of some sort on the—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos’s words were cut off by a high, piercing howl. Dany’s skin prickled at the sound. A wolf in the distance, its howl so very like those from the Dothraki Sea. They all stopped, glancing around uneasily. In seconds, the howl sounded again, nearer still. The ghosts fanned out before them, parting like the pages of a book, and a huge white mass appeared, galloping toward them. The wolf’s eyes were blood red, its fangs the size of her forearm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Davos said, and then the wolf was upon them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s great shaggy tail swept both Tyrion and Davos aside with ease, and then it knocked her over. Hot breath hit her face. The scent of blood and death, and then—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s huge tongue gave her whole face an excited lick. Dany lay frozen, even as Davos’s yells of fear filled the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf licked her again, then nudged her with its snout and whined softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Dany opened her eyes, it was gazing down at her, one ear flopping down, its head tilted in curiosity. Then it licked her whole face again, tail wagging and showering everything in sight with snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, hi?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf shifted in excitement, stepped back to dance from paw to paw. It gave another booming howl, then rushed back to the castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both Tyrion and Davos had regained their feet, weapons in their hands, watching the wolf retreat in amazement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Dany answered. She sat up and made a face at the saliva coating her. “Slobbery and gross now, but fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos helped her up, eyeing her clothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t bite you at all?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we’d have half a princess left if it had,” Tyrion joked, and while he was clearly relieved, he was also quite shaken. “What the hell was that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A direwolf of old.” Dany found her sword were it had been knocked from her hand and shook the snow off of it. “I did not realize they were so big.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or still living.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, they continued toward the castle, following the dead around them who seemed not to have noticed the encounter. The wolf did not appear again, but as the snow hardened, criss-crossing patterns of paws and shoes and footprints covering the surface, someone appeared on the entrance steps. He looked stooped, all in black from his shoulders down. They paused to watch the stranger, his slow movements and difficulty with the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think he’s tricking us into thinking he’s some decrepit old man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he wants to make it easier, he’s welcome to do so,” Dany said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But even as they watched, swords raised to strike, the old man faltered, nearly fell. At once, the great white wolf rushed into sight to help him. It took a few moments since the wolf was so big, but even twenty feet away, they could hear the cheerful sound of the old man’s laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you, Ghost, thank you.” He was led down the stairs using the wolf’s enormous head like a walking cane. “Lead me to her, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it must have been him, for how else could he be here. Dany raised her sword, summoned her willpower to strike him, as fragile and old and sweet as he seemed. But her sword hesitated the closer he grew. He was frail, thin, his hair like snow, his eyes clearly blind. His skin was marked by liver spots and if not for the wolf guiding him, Dany was certain he would not have been able to cross such a distance on his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both Davos and Tyrion looked to her for guidance, just as conflicted as she was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss Targaryen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man stopped before them, the great wolf at his side, looking as happy as if this were a feast just for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps we are, and that oddity on the hill was just a taste test.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kept her sword up, glaring at the old man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your time has ended, Night King. I—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed like gentle bells, and it made Dany hesitate all the more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not him, though he is inside,” the old man said. “Tell me, how distant are we? Are you Duncan’s granddaughter or Jaehaerys’s?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her grandfather’s name made her hesitate further. How did he know such things? How could anyone here, halfway across the world know her family history so intimately?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took all of his face in slowly, the faint but curved brows, the straight nose that curved just as her father’s had, and the eyes most of all. They were not entirely milky white in his blindness, the edges were still a pale violet, a mark of her family’s heritage from centuries past.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you… Aemon Targaryen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, took another step closer, the wolf’s head at his back to make sure he stayed upright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I had hoped someone would follow after me some day,” Aemon said, and he reached towards her with a hand burned just as hers was from when she’d melted the glassy ice at the Nightfort. “Are you the last of us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My… my mother still lives.” Dany looked to Davos and Tyrion for assurances, that this man saying he was her family could be trusted, that this wasn’t some wild, terrible trick. “It’s just the two of us now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And she is who’s daughter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rhaella, daughter of Jaehaerys and I am Daenerys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moved forward to embrace her, not seeming to care in the slightest about the sword pressed between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good you’ve come, here at the end,” he said. “If I’m right, you two are the last, the true last, of our line.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are once you… I mean, if you are who you say you are, then yes, Mother and I are the last Targaryens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped back, rested his palm on the wolf’s waiting head. “I do not mean Queen Rhaella,” Aemon told her. “One day she will be gone, too, just as I will, but you and Jon will be our last, I think. And perhaps that is enough for when the end comes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is Jon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A deep, sorrowful sigh left him. He turned back toward the castle and waved for them to follow, Ghost guiding him once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come see.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uncle Aemon liiiiiiiiiiveth!!!!!</p>
<p>Her and Dany will come face to face in the next one, promise, haha. As usual, the update for this will be after my next update of Penumbra Queens. </p>
<p>Until then, stay safe, healthy, etc. etc. </p>
<p>Hugs and butterfly kisses to all! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Dany VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yaaaay, happy, uh, Monday? Probably not. We don't like the Mondays. Sorry Mondays, the world chose your fate.</p>
<p>Another Dany POV and they are finally meeting face to faaaaaaaace.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dany could not explain even to herself why she believed and trusted the old man claiming to be her distant uncle. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he had definitely come this way decades before her, or the clear burns on his hand much like those that now marked her own. He seemed too old and sincere to be of any harm, but Dany’s suspicions held as they followed him into the castle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At once, the wolf rushed ahead, his excited howl echoing down the ice hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ghost, behave!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the beast did not heed Aemon’s gentle chide. He disappeared down another corridor to the left hand side of the hall. Dany looked around at the castle, surprised to feel a sudden rush of warmth. She pushed her scarf down off her face and took in the interior. Everything was ice or stone. White tree roots broke through some spots in the floor and walls, but it was not an unpleasant sight. A few paces along, each side of the corridor was lined with vibrant blue roses that seemed to glow just as the eyes of the wights they’d followed here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he your wolf?” Davos asked. He still had his sword in hand, but he’d pushed his scarf off his face, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon’s,” Aemon said. “He found him long ago, after he first made this place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Made it?” Tyrion seemed too stubborn to take his scarf off, even as he was clearly sweating on his nose and under his eyes. “So he’s the one we seek is he, this Jon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose he is, just as I came seeking him years ago.” Aemon paused outside of the parted door at the end of the hall. “It’s not all as it seems, Daenerys. The Night King—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Needs to end,” she finished. “Whatever name he chooses, I will see to it and we can go home. This Stark lord will not hold our lands hostage anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daenerys, it’s not that simple.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she didn’t care to listen further. They’d come this far, had made it to where so few had before her. If she finished this, she could go home. Back to her mother and friends, to a world blossoming with spring with her old uncle at her side, finally free of whatever hold the Night King had held on this world all these long years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany moved into the room past him, sword raised, Davos and Tyrion at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a dining hall made of ice, although the table was missing a great number of chairs. At the far end, examining another patch of blue roses, was an ice demon just as her ancestors had described. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Night King was solid ice, glinting blue and white in the glow of the roses. His armor was black, though it seemed to reflect back whatever touched it as he shifted. His head had no hair, just jagged spires of ice that rose from the crown. When he spoke, it was as if the warmth had been sucked from her soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aemon, did you find—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and spotted them. Like his dead army, his eyes were blue frost, soulless and cold. His mouth twisted as he looked them over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is Aemon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Safer now that we’re here,” Dany said, and while terror had seized her heart, the challenge in her voice was strong. “Today is your end.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the Night King snorted. Rolled his eyes. She hesitated once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn't that be a wonderful dream?” He shook his head as if that could dismiss her intentions. “If you harmed him—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only mean to harm you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, Dany raised her burned hand and leveled a stream of fire at him as strong as she could muster. She held her breath, let the air inside her fuel it until it had melted the table between them and was making the walls of the room drip. But through the brightness, she could still see his outline as solid as before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously?” he said when she couldn’t hold it any longer. “Is this really what the Targaryen line has become?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her temper flared and she blasted him again, but it was weaker than before, more narrow. And what she saw him do stunned her. He’d met the fire with his own palm—one burned not unlike her own and very much human. Every rush of flame went right into his hand as if…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He can wield fire, too.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped, staring across at him in disbelief. Davos charged in the silence, and his feet were immediately frozen to the floor. Both legs were encased in thick ice, jerking him to a stop and sending his sword flying from his grip. The Night King grimaced at the damage she’d done to the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose it makes sense,” he muttered, and with a few motions of his hands, the table grew up between them as pristine and glittering as before. “Are you finished, Miss Targaryen? Or do you intend to have me watch you pass out from holding your breath?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion’s hand cupped her elbow, a warning for patience in the face of what they clearly could not overcome. But Dany couldn’t give up so simply. The world depended on her. Her mother’s life was at stake. She unleashed another blast of fire, gave it all she had, and the Night King…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped right through it, moved his hands in a motion she’d never seen used and seemed to lasso every strand of flame into a great rope around himself. With a flick of his wrist, it snapped forward, stinging her wrist and putting an end to her fire. Dany cried out at the sharp pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you even touch her,” Davos bellowed, but the Night King waved his hand and Davos’s mouth was covered in fire that seemed to freeze instantly into black glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Obsidian,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dany realized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made no sense to her, but Quaithe’s voice rose up from her memories. She stared at Davos’s horrorstruck expression, but aside from being silenced, he seemed unharmed. Tyrion had set his sword down on the floor, and not unwisely after what they’d just seen. But Dany watched the light flicker off the obsidian mouth guard, remembering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ice burns,” she recalled, “and fire can be just as cold.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Night King flinched, turned his head sharply to face her. He considered her in the sudden, eerie silence, his bright blue eyes squinted in suspicion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who told you that, Princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about his tone made Dany sure he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it directly from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who said that?” he asked again, and this time a quiet menace had entered his voice. All around him, reality seemed to shift and shimmer with his anger, a terror cold seizing her insides as if her very blood had turned to frost. “Answer me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon, leave her be.” Aemon hobbled into the room finally, looking disappointed in all of them, but relieved they were all still standing. “She has much to understand about all that has befallen—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cold retracted at once, and the Night King scowled at her uncle, but did not raise a hand to harm him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to understand,” he snapped. “Life is how it is, and the past is already written. You cannot unmake what has already been done.” Aemon bowed his head sadly at that, and then the Night King turned back to her. “Go home, Daenerys Targaryen. Enjoy what little time you have left in this world before it is gone for good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” And the anger in her refusal only seemed to annoy him further. “I came here to end you. To finish this hell you Starks have unleashed on the world, so that spring and summer and all the rest can come back to our world. So that people can live once more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Stark, am I?” Those terrible blue eyes glinted in some dark amusement. “Moreso than you two this far removed, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany’s face burned at the implication. “I am no such thing. The Targaryens fought against </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The Lost Dragonking and his son went to war against you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s no wonder fire magic has grown so weak, if you’re this disengaged with the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the Night King left. He shoved right past her and out into the hall where they had entered. His icy voice called out for the wolf, and Dany had a quick glimpse of the pair before they disappeared right into the ice itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon very gently raised a steaming hand to free Davos’s mouth. How he could see well enough to even know where he was in the room was a mystery to Dany, but she came over to help with Davos’s legs. Her old uncle had no problem using his fire magic to melt that ice, but when Dany tried she could not even get it to sweat. Her powers were exhausted from trying to finish her task.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will teach you,” he said, thanking her as she took his wrist to stabilize his trembling hand. “So much was lost when he fell during the Long Night, when it was just his mother left and Prince Aegon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His—but Prince Aegon’s mother was Queen Lyanna.” Dany twisted back toward the door that the Night King had left through. “That isn’t… he can’t be…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the more she considered all that she’d just seen, the more it made sense. Afterall, the Prince they’d all believed was promised to save them had vanished to end the war. Winter had fallen, and a false spring had arisen. He could wield fire and the ice of his nightmarish decisions, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He is, I’m afraid.” Aemon took her gently by the arm and led her through the dining hall and through another door and down some stairs. “We were all wrong. So much of our family for centuries, and so much truth and knowledge has been lost along the way. Come through here, dear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stairs ended and the ice seemed to recede from the white wooden door before them. Like the one under the Wall, it was surrounded by dark, warm earth, a great face carved into it. Aemon raised his shaky hand and gave its nose a good, firm scratch. The door’s pained expression relaxed, then yawned wide to let them pass through. They found themselves in an underground room, flooded with warmth from the fire in the hearth across from the door. A great old couch and several armchairs filled the space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit before the fire, my boy,” Aemon said, his hand touching Davos’s arm. “Get rid of that chill his magic can leave. He means no true harm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany took a seat, too, but at her uncle’s words, her temper sparked. “No true </span>
  <em>
    <span>harm</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Look at what he’s done to the world, Uncle!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What you believe he’s done, Daenerys.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon sat in the armchair nearest the fire, and Davos took the one across from him. Tyrion joined her on the couch. He’d been strangely silent since they’d finally seen the Night King face to face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think Aemon is right,” Tyrion said when he noticed her staring at him. “Whatever we’ve walked into, Princess, its not as we thought it was. Perhaps—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is no perhaps. The world we’ve grown up in is all the proper required,” Dany reminded Tyrion. “Seeing the sun disappear and the cold creep over so many cities and places. And the Night King did that, with his poisonous magic and whatever he did—even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Lost Dragonking’s son—has ruined all that was good in the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And before him, someone else was the Night King and did the same. Or tried to, did he not? If he is truly the Lost Dragonking’s son, then he can’t have been responsible for all the Long Nights that came before him.” Tyrion frowned, rubbing his bearded chin, gazing into the fire. “Why this winter is so much worse is a good question to start with. He could have killed us easily upstairs, Princess, yet here we are, cozy and warm in this space clearly created for your uncle’s comfort and safety in the lands of always winter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That did give her pause, but it was too much to let go of the reality she’d lived—to admit that the reasons she’d come here might have been no reason at all. If he was not the cause, if something more was happening here, was there any hope left at all? And why was this winter the one that had felled the world?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was too gruesome to consider. They’d all believed they could save the world from this, her, her brothers, her mother, and Aemon, too. And the Lost Dragonking, the one her brother Rhaegar had been named for, had believed it so fiercely, he’d devoted his life to defeating him. But that man they’d found was the lost king’s own son, if her uncle was correct. How could centuries of commitment and belief be so rotten?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon did not choose this life,” Aemon said as he settled into his armchair, basking in the warm golden glow of the fire. “I don’t know that even the truth could have properly prepared him to take on this role at such a young age. All the world back then relied on him—looked to him as their savior, not realizing prophecies had been read wrong. Or so it seems it was. I have my own theories now, with the knowledge he’s given to me, the magic he has taught me to wield. Everything that has happened is still locked inside him, parts he refuses to discuss with me, but I hope you will stay. Listen to him. Learn from him. We are family, Targaryens from our fire to our names to our blood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He insisted I leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon shut his eyes and smiled. “He did the same with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dany did not quite know what to make of it all. Aemon let her explore the underground chambers that this Night King had built for him. Magicked into existence just for his sole comfort, according to her uncle. Davos and Tyrion slept in the sitting room, warmed by the fire, her uncle resting, too. She examined all there was to see down below. The warm earth walls, the rough stone floor, even the little copper pump that gushed steaming water when she tried it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a frozen tundra, it was a lifeline and an oasis of warmth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her old uncle had several shelves of books as well, including a thin one of bound parchment that held word-for-word copies in his own hand of all they had found at Castle Black. New notes had been attached, new questions and ideas arising since he’d left that tomb behind. Dany glanced at it and the other books, but her mind was too tired and foggy for anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two other chambers were attached to the first, a bedchamber with a great canopied bed, the posts draped in ruby red, and a bathing chamber. Everything was very clean, well-crafted. She could not imagine using fire or ice magic to create such a space, but perhaps she’d misunderstood her uncle’s meaning. In the bedchamber, a blueish beam of light lit the room, the glow emitting from a small, round window beside the wardrobe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany went to look out. She’d been convinced they were underground, and her view confirmed it. The light came from above, the dug out hole around it framed by more of those odd blue roses. And high above them, she could just see the shuffling feet of the dead, the torn and worn hems of their trousers fluttering in the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s got a whole garden of those.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany jerked around. The voice was that of a girl, one she’d heard before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young girl from the red castle and her last vision of Quaithe at the Nightfort was standing behind her, eyeing her critically. She had a bluish glow that seemed to outline her body, but her eyes were like storm clouds, her mouth twisted like she was sucking on a lemon. Compared to the others, she seemed almost as human as herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s you again,” Dany said. “Are you… here? Like, actually here or—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be stupid, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.” The girl frowned at her, then nodded at the window. “He keeps the roses all over. It’s why the castle glows. And that dumb Wall he thought up. Suppose it worked for a while, but people got stupid about it, always trying to see what was on the other side.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany stared at her. She was younger than herself, no more than twelve if she had to guess. Thin and wiry, with an incredibly slender sword at her hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re one of the dead?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl shrugged, but did not answer. “Do you want to see it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>garden</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She rolled her eyes, reached forward and caught Dany’s sleeve. “He built it for Mother, so you’ve got to see it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too surprised that a ghost could touch her, Dany allowed herself to be dragged into the corner that hid a small wooden door that walked out to the ground above. Dead wights drifted past, seemed so slow they were barely moving. All around blue roses glowed in the night. The girl led Dany down a cleared stone path that led toward the heart of the towering white tree. Small trees lined the way, forming a grove around its base.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That one’s been here ever since,” the girl said, nodding at its branches spreading hundreds of feet across the sky. “The others came after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are they here? How can they grow in such cold?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her young companion shrugged, the roses’ glow casting a sickly hue to her skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re weirwoods, like they had in the North, a long time ago. Snow and ice mean nothing to them, their roots go too deep to die even in this.” The girl turned into a darker path under the canopy of scarlet leaves. “He won’t tell me why they’re here. And believe me, I’ve been asking him daily for over a century.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem to know him well, my lady.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Princess, not a lady.” The girl made a face that reminded Dany of Missandei back home. “I’m Arya. Jon’s my brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brother?” Dany racked her brain for any mention of the Lost Dragonking having a daughter and came up with nothing. Queen Lyanna had fled Westeros with her youngest son, just an infant at the time, raised him by herself in Valyria while her older son and king husband perished in the war. A daughter had never been mentioned that she could recall. “Did he bring you here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya shook her head. “I went looking for him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t answer any of the other questions Dany posed her, but they all fell silent in her mind as the blue glow returned and flooded the spaces between the trees. A dozen steps later, they had reached the roots of the largest weirwood tree, and all around its base the ground was blanketed in those same blue roses. Dany gazed at them in wonder, at the blooms and beauty and the warmth that seemed to seep right into her heart in this space. Here was safety, comfort, and a sorrow that was both bone deep and knowable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He—the Night King—made this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya didn’t answer. When Dany turned back to where she’d been standing the young girl was gone. Instead the Night King was watching her from across the clearing, emerging from the otherside of the gigantic tree’s base.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you to go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany ignored him. She walked through the flowers, watching his icy countenance tighten, his jaw grid, his vivid eyes tracing her footsteps. It was almost as if he cared for the roses spread out all around them. As if he was worried she might harm them, perhaps burn them in anger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You told Aemon the same thing,” Dany finally said. “Yet, he’s been here with you for nearly eighty years. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Night King scowled, his head turning away from her imploring look, but his eyes kept drifting back to her boots shifted amongst the roses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll have to ask him that.” He seemed to collect himself then, moving toward her and taking her by the arm to hurry her out of the rose garden. “And this place, these… you are not allowed to be here. I forbid it. Not here, if you insist on lingering longer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Insist? Did Aemon insist, too? And you just let him do so, didn’t even think to just kill him like all the others?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His whole face contorted. Instead of answering, he turned his own question to her as they moved under the canopy of smaller trees, back into the dark as the rose garden’s glow faded behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you find this place? Did you follow me out here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany wrenched her arm from his tight grasp and glared at him. “A little ghost told me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted. “Arya, was it? She’s always been nosy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How quick he’d deduced who that ghost was made Dany pause. Some of her anger left her as they walked back toward the castle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She said she was your sister,” Dany said as the dark canopy gave way to the white snow and bluish glow of the castle. “I’ve never read or heard anything about the Lost Dragonking having a daughter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped at the edge of the grove, eyes fixed on the wights shuffling through the snow, the ice castle towering just slightly higher than the great tree. A great melancholy seemed to overcome him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t have bothered after…” The Night King shook his head, his frown back in place a moment later. “Go home, Daenerys Targaryen. Rest and take food, if you must. I have no use for either, but you will leave. There’s nothing here for you, and no way to slay me, however you try to do so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left her where she was, and Dany stood there for a long while, admiring the place she’d found herself in. Behind her, the blue glow was lost to the dark, but the faint outline of Arya was just visible, peeking out from behind one of the trees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, he didn’t freeze or burn you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany snorted. “Do you often lead visitors to their potential doom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya shrugged and came out to join her. “It’s only Jon. He’s harmless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell that to the cities all across the world that have fallen to death and darkness.” Dany headed back toward the castle and the stairs that led down to Aemon’s quarters. “Why did you lead me back there anyway? The garden is beautiful,” Dany admitted, “but there’s nothing to be done here. Perhaps, he’s right. Going home to await the end is for the best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya trotted at her side backwards, her eyes on the weirwood grove behind them. “She wants to see you,” Arya said. “In person this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then she vanished into a cloudy gray mist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flabbergasted, mind whirling to figure out who and what Arya had meant, Dany twisted around to find her. Instead, just there in the dark gloom, she saw the outline of a red mask that disappeared as soon as she blinked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quaithe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raced back into the trees, fire in her palm to light the way. Dany searched until her feet ached, but she saw no other signs of Quaithe. Every path led out of the grove or into its heart to the foot of the magnificent weirwood. Annoyed, Dany kicked one of its roots, then stumbled back in surprise when it lifted up and swatted her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rose thorns cut her as she fell back on her butt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blue dust rushed into the air all around her, the petals scattering into the wind. Dany tried to get her hands down before her head hit, and instead she sunk right through the ground. Her yell was silenced as the earth sucked her in. She shut her eyes, expecting dirt to blind her, to flood her mouth and choke her. Instead, warmer air hit her cheeks. Something skittered and crackled through the dirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Dany opened her eyes, she was underground, but it was a far different place from her old uncle’s chambers at the base of the castle. Here, the world was dark and deep. The earth passage around her was far colder than the one beneath the Wall, the dirt turned and loosely packed under her feet. She lit her flame in her palm once more and looked around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flower and tree roots dangled over her head, little clumps of dirt coming loose and falling on her. Nothing but darkness greeted her in either direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something skittered again, shifting the dirt. Dany lowered her fire to see the ground and found nothing. Her breath misted in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had no idea how she’d gotten below ground, nor any idea how to get back to the surface. Trying to calm her racing heart, Dany took a few steps forward, and the skittering, clicking louders grew louder. The air was warmer, too. She took a step back and a wave of fierce cold washed over her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind her, something icy and dreadful rumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I should not be here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she had no way up, only forward or back. Again, the chill rumbled. And more voices sounded, shrieking in pain and fury and the deadly rabidness that had pursued them across the frozen sea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I look back, they’ll take me, too.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany could not say how she knew it, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up with each rumble and skittering shriek. It was as if each step she took forward brought them closer to her back, until icy, putrid breath was like snow hitting her skin. Every step forward took more effort, boney fingers grasped at her trouser legs, her furs, the end of her braid, but Dany pushed forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Into the warmer air and the deep dark, and finally, as the air in her lungs was all but gone, the fire in her palm dwindled to an eye-sized flame, amber light appeared before her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To go forward,” Quaithe’s voice called.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Dany pushed toward it, willing the dead hands away, the ground to move beneath her feet more quickly, and after a moment of fighting, when her flame was lost, her mouth opening to breathe, she burst into the amber light and tumbled to her knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soft grass was beneath her. She could feel it with her finger, the thin, warm blades, the texture of each strand. Someone was whistling—no, a bird. It had been so many years since she’d heard the sound, not since she was a little girl. Tears filled her eyes to know she’d likely never bring that back now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome, Daenerys Targaryen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe was staring down at her, red-masked, cloaked, and behind her, spreading life and golden light across the green hillside, was the sun. Dany was certain it was. She’d never glimpsed it fully, nor so high above and hot, but she could think of nothing else it might be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The sun—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rises in the west and sets in the east down here,” Quaithe explained, and she did not offer her hand to help Dany up, but simply turned back toward the basket of food and the blanket stretched out on the hill. “This is not life and living, not as it is meant to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany stood up slowly. She turned to look back, but there was no trace of the dark or the dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this real?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As real as all that exists.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany hesitated before joining Quaithe on the blanket. She was sweating through her furs, so unused to this level of warmth it was almost unbearable. When she blinked, her clothes had changed. Gone were the layers of furs, the thick boot and gloves, the fur hat and scarf. Instead, she was in a violet silk dress cut loose and low and flowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe only watched her in answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did the Night King put you here? Make this place for you, like what Aemon has?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe’s face was hidden by her mask, but Dany was almost certain those questions had earned her a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, he is as he was before, and so he does not visit.” Quaithe scooped up a delicate little lemon cake and examined it. “A cage is a cage no matter how sweetly the bird sings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a nice cage, Dany decided, as she gazed around her. The sky stretched from horizon to horizon. Birds sang from the trees that covered the dips between their hill and the others that stretched into the distance. To the south, she was certain it was the sea sparkling like gems, warm and inviting as it had never been in her life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Before, you mean, when he was human?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe did not answer, but Dany had learned to take most of her silences as agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he truly my ancestor, the Lost Dragonking’s son?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe wet eyes stared into her, through her. It was such a meaningful look, so deep and hard, that Dany actually turned around, convinced someone else was behind her. But the hillside was just the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He is the Prince that was Promised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The prince who failed the world,” Dany countered. She considered one of the little lemon cakes Quaithe was examining, then tried a bite. It dissolved to ash in her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The promise kept is not the one believed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany could not even begin to unravel where that riddle led, but she would have Tyrion to discuss it with if she found a way out of here, and Davos and now Aemon, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I free you from here, take you back to Valyria with me? Or… where is your home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quaithe did not answer, only stared and stared. She set down the lemon cake she’d been examining, and then reached out like lightning, grabbing Dany’s bare forearm, her burned hand throbbed and stung.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pass beneath the shadow as one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun blazed brighter, the world dissolved into blinding white, and then Dany was back on the surface, in thick furs and gloves, face down in the snow and roses. She sat up carefully, wincing from where the rose thorns had cut her cheeks. Overhead, the giant tree’s scarlet leaves shifted in the wind. Quaithe and her golden, warm prison were gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you see her?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya was back, seated at the edge of the garden, her dark hair full of red leaves. She had a whole pile of them on her lap, twisting them into shapes and sticking them in her hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany winced as she stood, and her burned hand throbbed again. She peeled off her glove and her mouth fell open. The burned skin was still there, but it was a bright pink now, the melted ridges fading, the skin peeling and healing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s why she keeps trying to touch Jon’s hand.” Arya came over to have a look. “He said that’s why he doesn’t go to see her anymore unless its necessary. Keeps trying to hold his hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To heal him,” Dany said, examining her skin. Even as they looked, it was clearing up and improving. “Why would he refuse that? He’s all ice except that hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya shrugged. “You know the way back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as Dany nodded, Arya disappeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She found Davos and Tyrion in a frantic state in the underground chambers when she came in through the door in Aemon’s rooms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank the gods, whatever is left of them.” Davos did not even hesitate to hug her tightly. “Thought you’d run off or that maybe he’d… you’re safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t gone long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion approached her next, examining her from head to toe with his critical, mismatched eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been gone for almost two days, best we can estimate here.” He handed Dany a bowl of food. “We tracked by the stars as best as we can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two days? But I only… I just went for a walk, there’s a garden of those blue roses. It’s not far at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos and Tyrion exchanged a look. “A garden? We searched the entire grounds and never saw such a thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany faltered. “It’s in the tree grove. All around the base of that big one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they were both shaking their hands in disagreement, and Dany’s heart pattered faster. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must have seen it,” she said. “It’s impossible to miss if you go in there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t see a garden,” Davos told her. “Some dead tangles of thorns, bunch of broken rocks and the like as the tree’s roots take over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart stammered faster. She set the bowl of food aside and dragged them both outside by their arms. When they reached the grove, she spotted the blue glow within a few minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See? You can see the blue glow of them, just like they are all around the castle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But neither Davos nor Tyrion could see them. Even when she brought them right to the edge of the garden, they acted as if they were blind in the deep dark of the canopy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing here, Princess.” And Davos sounded truly worried. “Come on, let’s get you back. Let you eat, rest. We can talk about it more once you’ve slept.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany let them lead her back in silence, her little palm of flame flicking in and out with her breathing. She didn’t need it to see, not with the garden’s brilliant glow behind her, but they did. Flummoxed, her body aching anew, and her stomach rumbling, Dany did as they wished, eating and then climbing into the great bed where Aemon was also dozing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sleep,” Davos encouraged her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion brought an extra fur over to cover her, and then they were gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside her, Aemon’s breathing was shallow, but uneven.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll never get to see it,” he whispered, a hand reaching over to pat her arm in assurance. “Just as they could never have crossed the Wall on their own. Targaryens have always been different amongst men, but this place—its very foundations—were made with our blood. Do you understand, Daenerys?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nobody else can see it and nobody else can enter,” Dany deduced. “It’s why Arya could get through and us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon patted her arm again. “He did not want anyone else to risk being too close after it happened. The Wall was to protect them, as much as he could.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Protect them?” Dany didn’t quite believe that. “If he would just pull all of his ice magic and winter back north of it, they would not need protection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon shifted beside her, rolled away. She thought he wouldn’t answer, but a few moments later, he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His magic is all that has kept winter from engulfing the world these last three centuries, and for that, I am grateful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t understand that either, but very little had made sense since they’d arrived here at the edge of the world, in the heart of winter where the oldest and, perhaps, last of the Targaryens were tucked away. This far removed she had no way of contacting her mother, of receiving news out of Valyria on whether or not it still stood or if her mother had died from the effort of keeping it warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to find a way to save them, I must go home so they can live.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But her magic alone would not do it. Not in its current reduced state, for what she had seen from the Night King had shown her there was so much more to be done with fire than what her family had taught her. They’d called her a prodigy as a girl, but how true was that compared to him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To Jon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, mulling over his true name for the first time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can he teach me what he knows? Would he be willing to do so?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had no answers, only questions that grew like the storms across the world. Beside her Aemon began to snore gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany shut her eyes and went to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So yup, we have met the Jon now. My favorite idiots are together now and there is... still so much to do, lmao. </p>
<p>The next chapter will feature both Jon and Dany POVs. It'll be out after the next PQ update, which I have not even started writing so o.o Few weeks probably?</p>
<p>Stay safe, friends! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Jon II / Dany VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hewwo, friends, we're back again and we're finally getting some JON POV again. We hype!</p>
<p>And some more Dany POV, of course.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“She wants to see you again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored her in favor of continuing his daily trek to the castle’s boundaries. Every day he walked amongst the new tree sprouts, counting them, encouraging them, tending and warming the newest and weakest, those most unsure. The dead roamed among the fields and the slope of the valley, calmed by the magic he’d built, the weaving of winter rose and weirwood like veins under the frozen earth. More sprouts grew all the time, some sudden and quick, others stubborn and slow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he knelt beside the newest one, the little twig and scarlet leaf just poking through the snow, Arya leapt right onto his back. She’d made a habit of it ever since she’d learned how to walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t ignore </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she reminded him, arms tight around his neck as she clung on, her feet dangling around his knees. Their age difference and the reality of her existing here until the end of her days had always left him much taller than her. “I’m your best sister, so you’ve got to listen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only sister, little sister.” He grimaced at the pressure of her arms around his neck, reached up to adjust where her grip was. “Is that why she sends you as her messenger? You’ve convinced her that I’ll listen to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya growled and swung herself about so that he couldn’t walk without almost toppling over. “Quaithe is only trying to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, she’s helped far too much with the same useless, repetitive shit for centuries now, hasn’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon, she says its important.” When he continued to ignore her request, pressing his burned hand to the little tree fighting to grow and warming it, Arya added, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daenerys</span>
  </em>
  <span> went to see her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stilled at those words. His burned hand fell away from the tree, another tiny branch sprouting beside the first. Another settling into peace, letting the dead die. But Daenerys Targaryen…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d known within minutes that Quaithe had somehow managed to reach out to her. Across continents and the narrow sea, miles and miles apart, Quaithe had made contact. Likely in dreams or hazy visions that took over the truth before one’s eyes, but with Quaithe it was all the same. He’d imprisoned her long ago, in an attempt to shut her up. And it had kept her from pursuing his every step out in the world, but dreams were another matter. In that strange existence between death and consciousness, Quaithe had found a new home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Prophecies are meaningless horseshit, and that’s all she speaks in.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Daenerys, like his father, had trusted in such things it seemed. She’d traveled halfway across the world in the deepening winter on a hope, a whim. For just a slim chance that she could end this madness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d come here wanting to do what he’d failed to accomplish all those years ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did she get in?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya let go on his neck and plopped down into the snow. When he turned to face her, she was doing her best to look innocent and failing utterly. Three centuries and she’d yet to fool him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you take her there on your own whim or at Quaithe’s word?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just showed her the garden, that’s all.” Arya gave him a defiant look, vanished from the ground and reappeared standing next to him. “She’s our blood. How else would she be here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that did not mean introducing her to the deep places. He’d locked away as much of the dark as he could manage to hide. The best thing for Daenerys Targaryen was to go home, to forget prophecy and spring and heroism and simply enjoy the last days before the tide broke him completely. Once he was lost for good, the world would disappear, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You or Quaithe, Arya. I will not ask again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scowled and kicked at the snow and finally, when his glare did not break into a smile, she answered. “Me. Quaithe showed her to me a while ago, when they were at the Wall, and I thought she was familiar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Familiar?” He shook his head at that. “Valyrian features don’t make her Father or Grandmother. They’re long gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not them exactly.” Arya bit her lip, considering her next words carefully, thoughtfully. “The day Aegon was born, when I was in the courtyard back home, I saw someone and thought it was Father, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. When Arya had first arrived here, starved and injured, she’d told him the whole tale of her life since he and Father had apparently vanished at war’s end. She’d wanted to rush north immediately when her and Mother had heard. But Arya had stayed for Lyanna, to help her and evacuate the city as winter had still swept up all around them. It was only in the weeks after the city had been emptied that the false spring he’d tried to maintain had arrived. That Aegon had been born and Arya had seen what she insisted was Father in that old courtyard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a long time ago, I know, and I thought it was Father for years and years,” she said. “But then Daenerys arrived and… I think it was her I saw. I swear it was her, Jon. She had all the furs on just like I remember and her braid was over one shoulder and caked in frost and snow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arya had mentioned it only once before, all those years ago when she’d come to find him. Come to die, in truth. A girl all of eleven, crossing Westeros on her own, fighting through the blizzards that had swept the whole northern stretch beyond the Wall into a nightmare. It was his fault she’d come here, and his fault she was too grievously injured to leave. But it had been that day in the courtyard of Maegor’s holdfast that had pushed Arya to come north.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You imagined it, Arya, same as I’ve imagined him a thousand and one times since…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d never finished that sentence. Father’s fate was his fault, just as it was his fault she was bound to these lands. Jon’s burned hand throbbed dully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was different,” Arya insisted as he turned to head back to the castle. “Daenerys is different. Can't you feel it? This is like when Uncle Aemon showed up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you insist on calling him that?” Jon gave her a friendly shove, and then snarled when his hand went right through her. The burns on his hand seared like he’d pressed them to a molten sword. “Aemon’s our nephew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s older than me,” Arya said as if that solved everything. “He’s older than </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon didn’t bother arguing. They’d existed for three centuries and then some, but aging was beyond what the obsidian in his heart allowed. And Arya would remain as she was until she passed beneath the Wall to die.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She’ll never leave here, no matter how this ends. I’m all the family left to her now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least, for the family she knew. Aemon was nearly the same now, so old and feeble, blind almost entirely. Soon, he would pass into the in between just as Arya was now. But Aemon, Jon was certain, would not linger on. When the end of life came, Aemon would embrace it. Unlike his sister, he’d lived a full life. In isolation at the end of the world, perhaps, but years and years beyond what Arya could ever have.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She vanished once more as he entered the castle, and Ghost trotted into sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep her away from Quaithe, would you?” Jon asked him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf only nudged him with his snout, then left the castle to roam. He didn’t hunt like a wolf ought to, just roamed the frozen lands, herding the dead to the castle, toward the little bit of peace Jon could give them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon was seated in Jon’s preferred sitting room,wrapped in furs and silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have they left then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His nephew did not answer at once, but Jon despised the response when he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, and I see no reason for her to rush home so quickly,” Aemon said. “They’ve had a long trip, and a far longer one back as winter grows worse. Let them stay and rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His insides shriveled at the reminder. Aemon’s words were not accusatory, but they stung Jon all the same. He was losing control, losing his mind with it, bit by bit, year after year, trying to rein it all inside himself to be what Father had always believed him to be. To be their savior, with the dead locked inside himself. Spring was out of reach, but he could keep the worst of winter here, he’d hoped, and give them their lives for a while longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that time was ending. Daenerys’s reasons for coming here made that obvious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing for them here,” Jon told him. “Nothing for anyone living.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon enough there will not be anywhere in the world for the living. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon, I know you’ve convinced yourself of no future, that all those centuries of our ancestors delving into prophecy were simply a waste of time and foolish, but I cannot believe that Daenerys crossing half the world in the heart of winter is an accident. She’s come seeking answers and an end to this when all hope has vanished.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s unexpected, but inconsequential.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s been led here for the same reasons you have,” Aemon said. “And why not? Why can’t the translation have been wrong? Why shouldn’t it be a prince </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> a princess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon didn’t answer. He left Aemon in the sitting room and headed deeper into the castle. For him, sleeping and eating were useless, and moreso, they were opportunities for Quaithe to reach out to him when his mind was more vulnerable. His purpose now was to not give in to the reason he existed—to control the song of ice and fire so many had believed would save them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To house the curse created millenia ago meant to devour the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Throughout the castle, more of the dead roamed. Some were so wispy and faint that only his eyes could detect them at this point. He did what he could as they insisted on clinging to existence, but the rest was up to them. His uncle had lived that way, for decades on end, growing so faint it had taken Ghost’s keen sense of smell to find him as he wandered. But Uncle Ned had given in, too. Eventually, they all did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> He found his new visitors, too, as he walked through the corridors. The small man was exploring, gave him a curious look when they crossed paths, but said nothing. Daenerys’s older companion, however, was not so hesitant to strike up a conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Impressive to make this whole place,” he said, when he spotted Jon wandering the halls. “And the Wall as well. Can’t say I have ever seen magic sustained for quite so long in such a powerful way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stared at him, but the man—Davos?—was not deterred by his silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Princess and her mother can wield fire in a thousand ways, but this… beyond anything I have ever seen. My boys would love to see it, knowing you’re not what we thought you were.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A thousand ways?” Jon’s mouth twisted. “All while holding their breath, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t wait for Davos to answer, just continued on into the next room, circling and wandering, and trying not to think of her, but finding it impossible not to do so. His family’s fire magic dwindling was not so surprising. Even Aemon’s abilities had been limited almost a century ago. Winter was slowly swallowing the entire world. His mother had been left to raise Aegon alone, an ice wielder trying to teach her little son fire, for it seemed certain he’d inherited that talent, just as Arya had only inherited their mother’s. He alone had been cursed with both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But why, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they would devolve into holding their breath to fuel their flames, was beyond him. How could a fire grow, sustain, burn when you all but put a bowl on top of it to suffocate the flames?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He twisted his way through the castle, stewing over the clumsy fire magic, and bumped right into the culprit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daenerys gazed up at him, her eyes as defiant as Arya’s always were. Violet, confident, and brimming with what he dared to name hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I came here for a reason,” she countered, but her anger from the days before seemed to have lessened. “That garden, with the blue roses, Aemon says only our blood can see it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Winter roses,” Jon said, and his mouth twisted at the look of confusion she gave him. “They’re called winter roses, not blue. Did those not make it to Valyria?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany glared at him and his tone, but seemed determined to hold her temper. “No, very little did as I understand it. Thanks to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned away from her gaze. “Leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand caught his arm before he’d made it five steps back in the direction he’d come from. Even through his black leathers, he could feel the heat and warmth, the fire that stirred in her veins. If she’d been born in his time, with the proper training, she could have been formidable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany was grudgingly apologetic, but the fact that she did sound sincere surprised him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry we attacked you,” Daenerys said. “It was… Aemon tried to explain then, who you were and that more was happening. And, if he’s correct, then none of this,” she gestured around at the air, “is your fault either. I wasn’t interested in listening, but I am now. Quaithe… she guided me here for a reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quaithe’s words have little to do with reason.” Jon glowered at her, pulled his arm free. “And Aemon can answer your questions, Princess. I have no interest in visitors or history lessons. Go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want Aemon’s perspective on what you’ve told him,” she said, and suddenly she was in front of him, darting around to block his path. “This happened to you. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> happening because of you. And you blocked everyone but your own blood from even reaching this place. You wield fire in ways I can’t even begin to—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you’d stop holding your damn breath, you’d be surprised what you can accomplish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brows knitted together in confusion. “But you have to hold your breath. The air is what fuels the fire, so you have to take in as much as possible to produce the magic when you need it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shook his head, laughed in a way that clearly offended her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All that will do is stifle it,” he told her. “Make you pass out, too, probably, if you push yourself too hard without breathing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked more and more confused, as if she was trying to reorganize all the lessons she’d likely learned as a girl. Trying to puzzle out where and how and why she’d been taught something so restrictive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You learned it differently?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I learned it correctly,” Jon said. He considered her for a moment, then raised his burned hand. At once, a burst of flame appeared in his palm, the flickering light deepening the old burn scars with dancing shadows. “If you only feed a candle a certain amount of air, what happens?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he held his breath, the flame flickering and shrinking until it was no bigger than his thumb. As soon as he exhaled, it grew, then bloomed into a fire the size of his head as he inhaled. Daenerys examined it closely, watching his breathing, the fire steady and strong in his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fire is life, and life needs air to grow. What you’re doing is stifling it, a rigid sort of control that makes it near impossible to wield it properly. If you were wielding ice, maybe it would work equally well, but fire must flow through you entirely. It can’t do that if you’re trapping it with a limited air supply.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried to copy him and immediately inhaled and held her breath. It took a few tries for her to break the habit, but even when she did, her fire was weak and unstable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nobody in my family does it as you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not in your recent family.” Jon let his ice flow next, slowly joining with the fire, the flames flickering—red, green, blue, yellow—before crystallizing it into that dark obsidian glass that sparkled like a jewel. “Here. Something for the journey home to show Valyria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took the obsidian flame, but did not step out of his way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you teach me? The right way to wield fire, to do all the things you learned to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he scowled, she glared at him. “If you teach me, I’ll leave,” she said. “If I can wield fire better, Valyria will at least stand a chance. We can keep the city warmer, fight the winter off a while longer until…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Until I break entirely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’ll leave? Actually leave, go home to Valyria, and never return to this side of the Wall?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t hesitate to nod and agree. Jon watched her eyes, the corners of her lips, looked for any of the signs or tells that he had always caught Arya in when she lied. But Daenerys seemed to be truthful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll leave if you teach me, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She seemed surprised, but a slow smile spread over her face. It was the first one he’d seen on her, and it was almost startling after so many years in near solitude. Aemon smiled every now and then, but he slept more often than not, warmed himself by the fire or talking with Arya or the dead that still lingered. Ghost kept him company, more for his safety than anything else, but Jon made himself distant. Having that space was for the best, knowing what would happen someday soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smiles were a rare sight this far north, but hers seemed to warm every bit of the room and his chest. He scowled in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll start tomorrow then, Princess. The sooner you’re gone, the better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it really that awful having people here to be less alone for a while?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon gave her a dark, lingering look. “It is when you’ve seen what happens to those who stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he walked away, back to the direction he’d come, off into the snow and garden to await Ghost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>~~~DANY~~~</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She woke before everyone else, ready to start, eager to learn more of what fire magic could mean. Of what it had once meant if his words held any truth. Dany dressed in her furs, had nothing else to wear at this point in their journey. It was good for the warmth since the castle held a chill, but she wished she had something less bulky to practice fire in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Night King was there to greet her when she arrived in the entrance hall. Dany could not bring herself to trust him—she could not even understand all the things Aemon said he was or did or had been. He was destroying their world, but Aemon was convinced he had no choice. She could not fathom such a thing. There was always a choice. Even if that choice was death over something terrible, it was still a decision to be made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And this man had chosen to be terrible for centuries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he can teach me to wield fire properly, can help me protect Valyria and perhaps my children can do the same if I am so fortunate.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d only considered being a mother a few times when she’d been small, enamored with her mother’s doting and love and warmth. Once she’d understood the true state of the world, had seen it grow worse day after day, she’d changed her mind. How could she create a whole new person, knowing what awaited them in life?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going easy on you,” he told her after he’d directed her into a new room that might have passed for a frozen ballroom with all the furniture removed. “The quicker you learn, the faster you go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice was as cold as before, emotionless, empty like an ice cavern without a bottom. But she did not back down. If she could not destroy him, then she could learn from him, use his own knowledge to fight against his hold on the world, and maybe…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I can understand how this happened, enough to tell Mother and whoever is left.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because for all of his snide remarks and indifference, the ice demon before her could have easily killed all three of them on sight. He could have killed Aemon decades ago instead of providing him a warm home here. Trying to reconcile the rude indifference he gave to her with the little bit Aemon had explained so far was not easy. And perhaps she would not discover more of his past while she was here, but she could hope to understand. To have a true explanation to take back to the rest of the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could he build the Wall to protect people when his storms were what was killing them?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started with the basics. Little palms of fire, breathing exercises, all of it was the same beginnings that she had learned, but the method was the exact opposite of the rigid breath holding she’d been taught. For months, her mother and father had taught her breathing exercises to hold her breath longer, to grow her lungs until they were strong enough to wield flame. But this was rhythmic, steady, timing the breath to the beat of her heart, shutting her eyes to listen to and learn how her breath changed as she moved her hands, her legs, walked, ran.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At every step, her frustration grew, her training and habits took over no matter what she told herself to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he was little help in that regard. The Night King sat beside the space that had been cleared for her to practice, stoic and cold and utterly without compromise when her frustrations got the best of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you melt my home, I will freeze you inside one of the walls,” he told her, reforming the ice chair she’d just blasted in anger. “Try again. Focus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not well enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany snarled at him, paced the length of the room. “I’d like to see you unlearn years of training in a few hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s simple enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned back to glare at him. “You’re a terrible teacher.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So was your family clearly, all this rigid structure around breathing,” he said. “It’s a wonder one of you didn’t burst a lung from it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They tried again, and Dany failed. He simply watched her, unfazed, unyielding in his aloofness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again,” he ordered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His gaze was hard. His expression was as neutral and uncaring as it had been since she’d arrived here. She tried again and immediately held her breath. Tried again and focused so much on not inhaling as much air as possible that she could not focus on her fire at all except to produce a little fizzling spark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At this rate, I will be dead before you manage even a dim flame.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her frustration and anger won then. Dany blasted him with a burst of fire, and to her surprise, he laughed. Unmelted, unfazed, he was as horrid and pristinely icy as ever. Besides his burned hand, he was unmarked. For all her effort she might have done nothing more than shine a bright light on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing can melt me, Princess.” He showed her again how easy it was for him to simply breathe normally and wield a palm of fire. “If you would </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Dany left the room and his indifference behind. She stalked about the castle, wandering and wandering until her anger had dimmed and her feet ached from the cold. Eventually, she found Tyrion and Aemon downstairs in his warm chambers, a great book in her friend’s lap as he read the pages aloud to Aemon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rough training?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tyrion seemed entirely too amused at their predicament since they’d arrived. While she struggled to grasp the world-turning reality of the Night King being the Lost Dragonking’s son, Tyrion had decided it was all just absurd enough to make the end of the world amusing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany flung herself into the armchair across from them, arms folded as she scowled at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It takes time, dear, that’s all.” Aemon eased a small fire into his palm, breathing just as normally as the Night King did. “We were not quite as restrictive in my day as what you have learned, but undoing what are reflexes to form new ones its not a simple task. More than a few hours or days is needed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And a decent teacher,” Dany grumbled. Even as she watched, Aemon’s fire went out. “If you taught me what he taught you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon shook his head. “I have forgotten many of those lessons, Daenerys, and I was never the most gifted fire wielder to begin with. If you want to learn, Jon is the best person to teach you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a terrible teacher.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon smiled. “I imagine you would be understandably callous if you spent two centuries with only the dead, and then another century with just me. This is an adjustment for him, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany avoided his eyes. Even though he was blind now, there was something about his frosted eyes that made her feel exposed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you spoken to him yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked him to train me further.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon shook his head, but he was smiling. Beside him Tyrion was grinning, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s quite a story,” Tyrion said, closing the book on his lap. “At least the parts Aemon has learned from Jon. Don’t be so stubborn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany glared at him, too. “I’m not the stubborn one. Even if I asked, its not like he would tell me anything. He became the Night King and that’s that, now he’s ruining the world and you say he’s trying to stop this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He has been for years and years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the fact that it was Tyrion who replied only annoyed her further. Aemon refused to tell her everything, insisted she get to know Jon further and understand it all from him. But Aemon apparently had no problem telling Tyrion what he knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s been destroying it for years and years. My brothers died trying to cross the sea in his storms or because of his wights. That’s what he’s chosen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not that simple.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then explain it to me,” Dany snapped at her uncle. “You can tell Tyrion, but you will not tell me anything further. What difference does it make if I learn it from you or him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aemon sighed. “It matters greatly that you and Jon bond while you’re here. If my understanding of this prophecy is more accurate than the one that led you both to this point—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Prophecy is meaningless.” Her and Jon could agree on that much now, it seemed. “It was wrong for him and now its the same one that’s been wrong with me. Did nobody ever consider that the one who created this Night King magic may have also created the prophecy to lead us to this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Daenerys, if you are to truly be the last of us, then I think it’s important for you to fully understand why. Only Jon can tell you that, only he can explain best what’s happened to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She achieved nothing further from trying to get more information out of either of them. Frustrated once again, Dany left them to their books and retreated outside. When she found Davos he was with the big white wolf out in the snow, in a field the dead seemed to avoid. They were playing a rather one-sided version of tug of war. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good boy, go on and be gentler this—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos was tossed into a snow heap as soon as the wolf had the rope in his mouth. One gentle pull for his massive bulk seemed enough to rip a great tree from the ground. The wolf wagged his tail, rope dangling from between his massive teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany rushed over to Davos and helped him unbury himself from the snow bank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he assured her. “It’s actually quite fun, and Ghost loves the attention.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll love it a lot less if you get hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled him back to his feet, but he seemed entirely uninjured. Behind her, Ghost’s great warm snout pushed gently at her back. He was laying down, his red eyes just slightly above her own gaze when she turned around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello again, Ghost.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shut his eyes in delight when she scratched his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a terrible fright to look at, but just a big softie, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ghost leaned into her touch and that was answer enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’d rip your throats out if I asked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Night King was watching them from the far side of the castle’s courtyard. If Dany had to guess from the direction he’d come from, he’d been in the rose garden again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What else is of interest down there if he’s not visiting Quaithe?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think he would,” Dany challenged, and she knew it was a foolish argument to pick, but just the sight of him after her morning of failed training made her temper simmer. “Maybe he’d bite you instead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did not take the bait. “Did all the time as a pup,” he said. “Took ages to wean him, then he decided that chewing on my limbs was the best way to cut his teeth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos looked from the Night King to Dany, then gave Ghost a farewell pat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think I’m going to go have some supper, Princess, and uh…” He gazed at Jon in uncertainty. “Your Grace?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a king, not in any way that was meant for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Davos gave him a nod, then cast a look at Dany that said quite clearly to be nice. As if she was a small girl again, refusing to share a toy. She did not appreciate it, and the look on her face seemed to tell him that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on, boy, here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon took the frayed rope and slung it out into the snow fields. Ghost took off after it, then stayed where it had fallen, rolling about in the snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You found him as a pup?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Newborn,” he told her, and his eerie blue eyes watched her. They gave little away, but something in the way he squinted at her made Dany sure he was as displeased with the morning as she was. “Found him in the snow, mother was dead beside him, and his siblings had frozen solid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stared at the enormous wolf basking in the powdery snow, chewing happily on his rope toy. He was quite a contrast to the man before her. If he could even be considered a man or human at this point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arya tried to help one of the siblings, but she couldn’t do enough for it. Pup was all but dead and Arya is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to her? To Arya?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon considered her for a long time. Dany was certain he would not answer something so personal, would brush her aside like he’d been doing since she’d arrived in his frozen home. But eventually he gave a small nod, in either acceptance of her probing or perhaps at his own decision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Jon said. “She left home because of me. She passed through the Wall because of me. She’s too injured to leave or ever live again like she was before, and that’s because of me, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bitter sort of grief clung to his words. It was the rawest she’d ever seen him, the most human he’d ever appeared to be even as his icy skin gleamed in the blue glow of the roses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She made her own decision,” Dany offered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No eleven-year-old should have to make that choice. I should have been there when she...” His eyes sharpened as he trailed away, his mouth twisting. “If you stay here, your life will end just the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aemon seems well enough. He’s what? Close to a century now, isn’t he? That’s longer than my father or grandparents lived in Valyria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One hundred and one now, and closer to dead all the time.” Jon shut his eyes tight, his jaw clenched. “I never should have allowed him to stay here. Should have dragged him back to the Wall and put him south of it with my own hands, sealed it shut so nobody could ever find a way through again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every word was more regretful than the last, more ashamed it seemed as Dany watched him speak. His face gave little away, the ice seemed to be too thickly formed to allow him to show much of an expression beyond the handful she’d seen. No smile could crack through that, but he did not seem to have any reason to do such a thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nor to destroy the world as he is, and yet, here I am.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn't you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did not answer. Even as she waited, and the silence stretched on, Dany knew that question was perhaps one he could not even explain to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will you seal it once I’m gone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s gaze turned toward her again, the blue fiere and vibrant, but for the first time, she noticed another color there. Just a narrow vertical slash, almost like a scar, cut through the right pupil. The iris in that place was darker, a steady gray. He flexed his burned hand, the only human skin left to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will there be any reason to, if the world has crumbled to what you say is left?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose not.” Dany crossed her arms, hugged herself for some extra warmth. “Can’t you just stop it? You control all of this, can’t you just end it like any other sort of magic?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face contorted, and it wasn’t a smile exactly, not bitter and twisted, but the melancholy was clear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think I have been doing for three centuries, letting it run wild across the world?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Considering the frozen wasteland we just crossed, yes.” His gaze flickered back to her and then toward Ghost. “You’re the one doing that, letting it spread and spread and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I could hold it back for all of time, I would, Daenerys.” He shook his head in defeat. “For a time, once I had gotten my head on straight afterward, I did. I tried to lock it all away. For a while, it worked, too. But the magic that is mine and the magic that has created this… they are melded together, yes, but not in the way two longswords can be melted down and created into one greatsword. It decides as much as I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The False Spring</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she realized in surprise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was him, trying to rein winter in.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raised a hand to where his heart ought to be. “It’s a part of me,” Jon said. “Lodged deep in my chest, like a parasite, really, creeping over my body and conscious the longer it lives there. I cannot turn my own magic off anymore than you can, and that’s what it needs. A power to amplify it, someone who holds the magical strength to allow it to consume everything. You can work with it or against it, but it always wins in the end. And one day…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heart hammered at the look in his eyes. The dread, the way he seemed to have passively accepted he was little more than a host to something greater and more terrible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One day, it will win entirely. I will be gone, not even the monster standing with you now, so far removed from the boy Aemon first met a century ago. The world as we’ve known will end, Daenerys, and the magic written will reign anew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we can stop it surely,” she insisted at once. “If you know all of this, if you understand it, there must be a way to undo it, or… or remove it from you so we can destroy it. Or—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he laughed then, that dead sort of laugh that told her they had no chance at doing any such thing. Not because it was impossible to try, but because he already had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon raised his burned hand, his grimace almost a grin. “I already tried, Princess.” He flexed the burned fingers and sighed. “Used fire to reach right into my chest and pull it out, and well, you can see how that ended.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe with two of us together,” she began. “Or three if Aemon can—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You cannot undo this,” he said. “They made this magic for this exact purpose, and likely made that blasted prophecy so humanity would walk right into this mess, thinking they were undoing it when in actuality, creating their fable song of ice and fire, meant creating the one person who can house it to the strength needed to end the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did the Children of the Forest part of the legends not make it across the sea?” Jon considered her, his head tilted in interest. “That was Arya’s favorite part of the old stories when she was little. One of my little cousins wanted to meet them more than anything in the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany had to think hard to recall them, those people who had inhabited Westeros before men had arrived in their waves from Essos and elsewhere. She hardly knew anything about them. They had existed and then were gone, wiped out by humanity’s war against them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re all dead now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrugged. “Seems likely. Three centuries of searching up here and I have found no sign of them, but they made this.” He tapped his heart once more. “Obsidian, a dagger of it that’s crafted with the most delicate magic I’ve ever seen. Far beyond the bulkier type I can make. You say I am the Night King, but really, its that dagger that wields his power, that shapes him and continues to exist from one host to the next.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How many before you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrugged again. “No idea. But they were too weak, their magic wasn’t strong enough to serve its purpose. That’s why this winter is so different. Why no matter what I do, it spreads and spreads, feeds off of me. I am ice and fire, just as that useless prophecy said. And for that reason, I am the last person that ever should have been born.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany could only stare at him. Part of her was too stunned to speak, to realize just how far from accurate so many of their ancestors had been. They’d tried over and over in Valyria, sent so many west that had failed or died or disappeared in the spreading winter. But the prophecy had already been finished; had been a lie fed to them so they would do just as humanity’s oldest enemy had wished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Even if the Children of the Forest are dead, they win in the end. They take all of us with them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a slower anguish, the long torture that brought madness and grief and the worst of humanity to the surface. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at Jon then, the burned hand, the ice that encased his body, and that sliver of gray in one of his eyes. He’d done nothing wrong to lead to what he’d become it seemed. Had believed and been told all his life that he was their hero. It was not so unlike her brothers and even herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only now, he was their doom. And he had to live with that, to exist to the very last bitter moment, to know that when he faded for good, the world was entirely lost for everyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eerie eyes stared at her. “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That this existence, that you have to be—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t misread that prophecy,” he said, cutting off her pity, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You weren’t one of my idiotic parents who fucked until they had me. Their </span>
  <em>
    <span>savior</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And where did that get them? Dead and worse than that. Don’t apologize for what isn’t your responsibility.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dany nodded. But she watched his face as they returned to the castle together. He had no eyebrows, but his forehead seemed to almost be pinched in thought. As they passed into the entrance hall, Dany hesitated a moment before reaching over and grasping his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just that single touch seemed to send him into a terror. He jolted and shifted away from her, then stared over at her in what seemed to be disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t speak for Tyrion and Davos,” Dany told him, surprised to find that his hand was still warm. The burned skin was rough and grooved, but still very human. “But after I return home, once Mother is gone and Valyria is… I can come back here, stay until the end. Being alone with that burden… it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to carry that by yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was his only answer, and Dany accepted that as it was. She let go of his hand when he tugged, and watched him follow Ghost into another wing of the castle, walking a bit faster than before.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next update will probably be a bit longer in waiting time than recently. I am quickly running out of backlog for this one from NaNoWriMo and have not been writing as much as I normally do o.o whoops.</p>
<p>A few weeks at least, maybe a month? IDK. Just trying to avoid the pressure of having two stories at once without chapters waiting and work, YouTube, streaming on Twitch, now, etc.</p>
<p>I will see yous soon, be safe, fuck fascists and so on!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mhmm, there's our prologue. </p>
<p>We'll be picking up with Dany in the next one, and stay with her until they meet.</p>
<p>Not sure when the next update will be on this one, but next week I will hopefully be updating Penumbra Queens for those who also read that o.o</p>
<p>Until the next one, stay safe, wear a mask, kick a fascist in the ass!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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